As Brittle As Glass
by SallyCarefree
Summary: Peter has messed up big. Poor Neal suffers in prison and it's getting worse. Even after being released, Neal isn't his usual self and Peter realizes that mere apologies won't do. He works together with the usual suspects to con Neal back to his former self. Lots of whumpage, mostly Neal. Hurt, Comfort, friendship and trust issues. Only tiny bit of fluff in the very last chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Happiness is as brittle as glass, and so is trust...

AN:  
I've never written a story depicting a dark mood like this before. I'm really interested if you like it. Therefore, please R&R

Yeah, and this story has been beta read! I'm extremely glad that kat11bookworm has helped me with this story. Thank you so much!

Off we go, here comes the story!

###################################

The moment Peter Burke entered the FBI office, he sensed something was off. He had spent the morning at the head office of a blue chip company investigating an $8 Billion accounting fraud. The CEO and stockholders were not amused, and the FBI had been called in.

Normally, when you enter the White Collar office during working hours, you'd find busy agents working at their desks, talking at the water cooler or discussing the latest case hunched over a file.

Today, no-one was talking at all. The computer monitors were switched off. Burke addressed the agent next to him, "Chuck, what's going on?"

The young agent shrugged and nodded in the direction of Hughes' office. "Computer system is down."

Peter saw three men inside of Hughes' office. He didn't know any of them, but they had OPR written all over them.

Soon after they left, Hughes gave him the double finger point. He hurried upstairs. "Reese, why is OPR here? Is there a problem?"

"You could say so. Peter, this isn't going to be easy. You'd better take a seat." Hughes started to reveal the shocking details.

Two White Collar agents had sold inside information over a period of 14 month to anyone who was willing to pay the price, regardless whether it was an arms dealer, human traffickers or Russian mobsters. Furthermore, they had embezzled seized valuables and they had done it skillfully, being particularly careful to cover their tracks.

An atypical pattern in the White Collar closure history had raised the suspicion of OPR analysts. They started an investigation 4 weeks ago. It was only today that they had nailed the dirty agents down. The computer system had been blocked in order to secure the evidence. Both agents had been arrested meanwhile.

Peter Burke was appalled by the news. He had worked together with both of them regularly. Last week, he'd gone with one of them out for lunch. He'd never once become suspicious. "I don't believe this. We've been infiltrated. I'm glad we haven't lost any of our undercover agents in the line of duty due to those rats. It's bad enough they've messed up the cases."

Both men sat together in embarrassed silence. Then suddenly, a thought crossed Peter's mind. "Oh my god. Caffrey?"

Hughes looked unhappy. "I'm afraid so. We have no proof yet. OPR will need a fortnight to send the final report. But if you ask me: Yes. He was framed."

Peter closed his eyes. His stomach turned when he understood the implications of Hughes' words. He had sent his friend and partner to prison for nothing.

When they had seized millions worth of international currencies, during the investigation of a bank heist, a small fortune had never made it to the evidence room but had disappeared somewhere along the way. Caffrey had been around the boxes of money when they had been sealed. Therefore, it hadn't taken long until he had become suspect. Confronted with the accusations, Neal had protested his innocence, and had implored his handler to believe him. He had sworn by everything that was holy to him that he didn't do it.

Peter could still see the intense blue eyes begging him to listen. Only, he hadn't. Guilty; until proven innocent. Full of self-righteousness, he had presumed the ex-criminal had succumbed to the temptation and stolen the money. Dirty cops, like father, like son…

Two months ago, Neal Caffrey had once again been cuffed and sent back to prison. Mozzie had called the same day. When the little man had started swearing and using vile language the agent had ended the call. James had called, too, but couldn't give any facts, just a bare pledge of Neal's innocence. Of course, his son must have been framed by some dirty agents. Like Father, like son… Peter hadn't been convinced.

Since then, he hadn't heard anything from Neal, or about him. Diana had contacted June to terminate the accommodation agreement. Peter had made it clear to his team - as well as to his wife - that he wasn't willing to talk about the ungrateful criminal at all.

El had voiced a concern that he might bebiased because he'd felt neglected by Neal's recent bonding with his father following their reunion. Which was ridiculous. Besides, he could do without kitchen sink psychology. His last remark had ended the conversation, and she had kept up a frosty silence.

Caffrey's former desk had been cleared long since. A new probie was using it now. Agent Burke had no idea where the assortment of spare ties had been stored. The fedora had hung for a couple of days at the cloak rack, but it was gone, too. There was nothing left at the office that was reminiscent of Neal Caffrey. As if he'd never been there.

Only occasionally, when Peter approached Diana and Jones, had they stopped talking at once. He has guessed they'd been speaking about the ex-consultant, but he couldn't have cared less.

At present, the blue eyes were haunting him. He walked over to his own office, closed the door, and sat down at his desk. He gazed into space.

Diana was alarmed and came to check on him. "Are you alright, boss?"

"No."

Now, she was seriously concerned. "How can I help?"

"You can't."

"Boss, I ..."

"Leave me alone. Please."

She left him reluctantly, wondering whether she should call El. But she decided against it.

Bits and pieces of bygone conversations flashed through Peter's mind as if a box of fireworks had exploded inside his head. The agent couldn't stop the voices spooking around and tormenting him.

(Neal) _"You're the only one I trust."  
_(Ellen) _"Protect our boy."  
_(Neal) _"Contrary to popular opinion I can do honest." _  
(Mozzie) _"Your hands are not clean in this!"_  
(Alex) _"Neal said you are the best."_  
(Neal) _"I have a life here."_

At the FBI convention, _"There has to be immense truth between you two... "_  
And finally, his own response, _"Usually. But when there isn't, there's always faith... "_

Peter made it to the restrooms just in time to throw up. Washing his face he avoided looking at the mirror above the sink. He wasn't able to look the man who was staring back at him in the eye.

How could he possibly fix this?


	2. Chapter 2

When Peter had gone home the day before, he had intended to talk to El about all this, work out a plan and sleep a night over the problem.

Now it was 8 a.m. in the morning and he was standing right in front of the supermax prison.

Although he had talked to El – and he was glad she had not even once mentioned that she'd told him Neal was innocent – he hadn't worked out a plan yet, and he hadn't slept a lot either.

But Burke knew he had to see Neal and make things right. The agent had never been a coward. Therefore, he didn't look for any excuses to delay the confrontation. Admittedly, he wasn't looking forward to it.

His rudimentary plan was to apologize sincerely, achieve Neal's forgiveness, and then work out the details how to reinstate the consulting deal, and get back to normal. A bit flimsy to pass as a working plan. You might even call it wishful thinking, but it was all he had.

He approached the guard at the visitors' entrance. "Peter Burke to see inmate Neal Caffrey."

The guard checked the computer system. "Sorry Sir, you came for nothing. Caffrey doesn't receive visitors."

"Why not? Did he get into any trouble? Is he in solitary?"

"Nope, computer says he refuses to meet visitors."

"Why would he refuse to see anyone? He must be bored to death inside."

The guard's patience was wearing thin. "Listen, I don't know. There is no written declaration of intent explaining his motivation. It's just a flag at his record in the computer which states he is not receiving visitors. This flag means I won't let you in because there will be no visit."

Peter was annoyed and flashed his FBI badge. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I think this flag doesn't apply to FBI agents conducting a criminal investigation. Please open the gate and call for Mr. Caffrey." That did the trick. He was admitted inside.

Peter rose from his chair once Neal was brought to the room. He noticed that his former partner was slightly limping. The man in orange clothes spread his arms and legs so the guard could pat him down.

Neal's hair had been cut short. However, his hairdo wasn't the scaring thing about his appearance. He looked miserable. He'd lost considerable weight and seemed to be nothing but skin and bones. He was wearing a splint at the wrist, and there was a nasty welt at the neck. He seemed disinterested, no sign of enthusiasm at seeing his former handler.

He took a seat across from Peter and placed his hands on the table. He faced the agent, his blue eyes clear and blank.

Burke was the first one to talk. "Neal. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" A casual listener would have guessed they were two strangers meeting for the first time.

Peter sighed. This wouldn't be a piece of cake. "I'm feeling awful. I'm here to eat humble pie. OPR has identified two of our agents who were selling out the FBI. We're positive they took the money."

Neal's expression didn't change a bit. "You don't expect me to act surprised? I told you right from the beginning it wasn't me." His answer was brusque. He didn't let out his hurt. _[AN: Neal's thoughts in italics over the next paragraphs ...]_ _And I literally begged you to believe me. But you didn't even consider the possibility that I was actually innocent. After all what we'd been through together, you just sent me to rot in prison. _

"I know and I'm here to apologize. I should have listened to you, I should have trusted you in the first place. I didn't, and I'm awfully sorry."

_For fuck's sake, yes you should have trusted me. Now, I don't care for your apologies any more. Go away._

Neal wanted to end the conversation. "Ok, I was told you're here to investigate a case. I'm not taking social calls. Therefore, let's get to business, so you can leave and I can return to my cell." _I can't stand this any longer. _

"Why don't you receive any visitors?"

"That's my business. Let's focus on your case." _Because it breaks my heart when I see June's or Mozzie's or my Dad's shocked faces upon looking at me. And because it breaks my heart even more when I have to return to my cell alone afterwards. _

"There is no case. You are the case. That was a pretext I created to meet you."

"You've met me. Unless you need my statement for another case, let's adjourn the meeting." _Yeah, you go back to your cozy home or your spacious FBI office. I will return to the bare walls in my cell._

Peter grew desperate. "It may take two more weeks until OPR closes the case officially. But Neal, we have to start planning how we can reinstate you as consultant."

Neal got up and signaled the guard. "I'm not interested. This is not going to happen." _It had been the very first time in my life that I've trusted someone unconditionally. Then you cast me out. That has been devastating. I won't survive another blow like this. At some point, you have to cut your losses. _

The FBI agent reached for the prisoner's arm. "You can't stay in here. You already look starved. And what has happened to your leg? You're limping. While we're on it, what about your arm, your neck? Neal, we can work this out, together."

It was the first time the younger man showed some emotion when he replied harshly. "I told you, I'm fine. They feed me 3 meals a day. I fell down the stairs, I got injured, it happens. I get two showers a week, clean clothes and a daily walk in the yard. That's all I need for the next two years. I'm not your headache anymore."

_The pain you feel when you're beaten up, your head is bashed against the wall with the guards turning their back, someone kicks your leg with safety boots on, or you've thrown up for the umpteenth time until your stomach revolts with cramps … All that pain, humiliation and fear was nothing compared to being let down by the one and only person in your life you've ever really trusted._

Neal turned towards the guard to be cuffed and walked back to his cell. Peter couldn't hold him back. He was dumbstruck, still sitting at the table without any clue how to clear up this mess long after he was left alone in the visitor's room.

Locked up in his cell, Neal lay down on his bunk. He curled up and started sobbing silently. He was glad that he didn't break down in front of Peter. It has been hard to keep up. But now, he wasn't able to stop crying.

AN:  
This was chapter 2. Please don't kill me for the use of italics! I've had no better idea how to mark those lines as Neal's thoughts.

I was overwhelmed by all those reviews and messages I've got regarding the first chapter. You're awesome.

Just to sort things out: no-one will die in the course of the events. OK, maybe some bad guy has to push up daisies, but no WC character. And there will be a happy ending. But until the final chapter, things may not be so happy...


	3. Chapter 3

Back at the Bureau, Peter secluded himself in his office and worked his way through cold case files. Around lunch time, Diana picked up the courage to knock at his door to ask about the meeting with Neal.

The older agent sighed. "I tried to talk to him, But I'm afraid he isn't willing to cooperate with the FBI, namely with me, anymore. Although, part of me can understand his reluctance, I wish I knew how to get through to him. It's not..." He fell in silence thinking himself back to the encounter with Caffrey earlier on. "He's not well. I don't know who's after him, whether it's the guards, the inmates, or either of them. He's injured and looks wretched. He would be better off by far at the Bureau. Those blue eyes have lost their shine; they seem like a pile of glass shards"

Diana was concerned, trying to problem-solve. "Have you talked to any of his friends, yet? Or maybe I could talk some sense into him?"

"I tried to contact Mozzie. But all the phone numbers I've got are burner phones, long since discarded. I've called June time and again; she told her housekeeper to reject my calls. As for James, he's gone underground. Neal's not taking any visitors. That is why you wouldn't be able to talk to him. This is a rather shrewd affair."

In the evening, Peter told his wife about the meeting at prison. She was upset when she heard about Caffrey's condition. She had tried to visit Neal in prison once, but had left without achieving anything. She had also tried to reach Mozzie, without success.

Her husband had nourished hope that El might know how to contact Mozzie, or perhaps James. After all, he shed this last hope.

OPR sent the preliminary report a week later. Even though the final clearance was pending, there was no doubt that their C.I. had been framed.

As soon as Hughes had obtained the director's approval to renew Caffrey's deal he informed Burke immediately.

"Reese, I will try to convince him. Only, I have no idea about the outcome. Last time I was there he wasn't amenable to reason, apologies, or anything at all. But who knows? He's had a week to think about his options. Probably, he's figured out that living with an anklet in an elegant Upper West Side residence as well as working for the White Collar division is preferable to his current situation." Frankly, taken the icy encounter with his former consultant into consideration Peter didn't expect a warm welcome for his next visit.

He drove over to prison with mixed feelings. ..

Peter had brought the contract, spreading the sheets in front of him while he was waiting for Neal to be walked to the visitor's room. The FBI officials had signed already, and so had he. Only the consultant's signature was missing.

The FBI agent rose with a start when the inmate finally arrived. "Neal! What happened to you?"

Needless to say, Caffrey hadn't been looking hale and hearty a week ago. But right now, he presented a dreadful, pathetic sight. The left side of his face was bruised, full of black and blue marks, his lip was split. The eye was swollen completely, no hint of the sky-blue iris and there were stitches at his temple.

Neal had spent the morning in the infirmary. He was hurting and didn't want to see anyone, let alone his former handler. He was furious. What a stupid question was that? _What happened to you?_

Where should he start? This morning, when he got beaten up in the refectory by two fellow inmates? A few months ago, when the man he had considered his friend and partner had given him the boot? Or two years back, when his former girlfriend had ditched him after playing a double game on him? Maybe, he should start at his third birthday when his father walked out to come back only recently, after being lost for 30 years.

Yeah, what had happened to him? You could start a philosophical discussion on this question, debate on it for hours.

All he said was, "Hi, Peter."

The FBI agent was still in panic mode. "Those stitches... Who did this?"

Neal touched his temple unconsciously. It felt still numb after the local anesthesia. "The stitches? That was a doctor at the infirmary."

"That's not what I've meant. Who hurt you so much that you needed to be stitched up? This looks like a stab wound to me. I want to talk to the prison officer in charge."

Neal shrugged. "I stumbled at breakfast, bumped my head on the metal corner of a table and had a hard landing on the floor. Check the accident log. No-one else but me was involved."

"Neal, that's nonsense. Stop talking rubbish. You don't have to conjure up excuses. It's not your fault." The agent couldn't understand why his former partner refused to reveal the identity of his attackers or the guards who had failed their duties. Little did he know about the dynamics of life in prison...

Being the guy who had helped the FBI to arrest some of his fellow inmates didn't gain you much popularity. You didn't have to expect any favors from the opposing team either if you had escaped from prison before using the director's wife's credit card, thus making the guards looking like fools.

Caffrey didn't answer but sat down on the empty chair at the table. Peter sat back down, too. He tried to calm down. "Neal, this has to end. Let's face it, you can't stay here. Just sign these documents, so that you'll walk out with me and take lunch already at some fancy Downtown brasserie."

He slid the contract across the table. The prisoner took a glance and shook his head. "No. We're done. I've told you already I won't be working for you again. Never in a million years!"

The very first day of his re-imprisonment, he had been sitting in his cell waiting for exactly this: Peter coming to his rescue, full of remorse and reinstating the deal, probably willing to extend his radius by another mile. Neal would have sulked a bit, but finally magnanimously forgiven his handler. Likely, the con man would have been taking a little advantage out of Burke's guilty conscience now and then to squeeze out some extra favors.

He had clung to that hope. They had gotten over the Nazi treasure disaster; Peter had brought him back from Cape Verde, helped to clear his father's name. Neal couldn't believe that Peter won't see through this setup. Perhaps, Peter knew already who had set him up. It must have been someone at the FBI, so he might try to lull that rat into a sense of security in order to make him careless and put his head in the noose...

It had taken him a week to accept this was nothing but wishful thinking. Hope dies last. Yet, finally it dies. Shedding hope had been the most painful thing in his life. And you could say, he has had his fair share of painful moments... He wouldn't let anyone rekindle the hope. Dying hurts. Being dead was … well it was sort of OK.

Caffrey was about to leave the room.

His former handler was determined to make him change his mind. "It's my fault that you're here. I know that. And I am sorry… I can't tell you how sorry I am. As much as I wish that you would come back to work together with me, I do understand that you're not able to trust me enough to do that."

Neal stopped him in mid-sentence and hissed "You might say that."

Peter gulped, but went on. "Therefore, just sign the contract. I promise Hughes will assign you to another handler. You're going to have a say in the choice of the agent as well as the department. Until that is settled, you can stay at June's." The ex-criminal couldn't possibly reject this tempting offer!

Caffrey clenched his teeth, fuming. For a split second, he considered the offer. "No. I'm not going to work for you, or the FBI, or any other government authority. Just leave me alone. Don't bother to keep coming back repeating your proposal. Why should I trust any of your promises? You know what? Trust is like glass. Once broken it can't be glued together. Broken beyond repair." Meeting was over.

"See you next week, Neal. I'm not giving up." It might take a while but Peter Burke commanded a considerable amount of patience. Sooner or later, the younger man would be willing to listen and agree to the deal. Until then, he would have to make sure his friend won't be hurt anymore. Solitary confinement wouldn't amuse Neal Caffrey, but it would be better than bruises, black eyes & stab wounds.

AN:

Thank you all, for all the reviews and for waiting patiently for this chapter. I'm very impressed and glad that you like the story so far. I hope I won't disappoint you ... Once again, thanks to my very helpful beta kat11bookworm.

If you've reviewed as registered user I'd love to discuss contrary points of view. Normally, I don't comment on guest reviews. But even though I should know better, I can't refrain from getting something straight:

I don't hate Peter.

Ask USA Network, I'm the one who is spamming them that they should start to sell Peter merchandising T-Shirts... But seriously, I feel that everyone makes a big mistake every now and then. But only a man of strong character will acknowledge his fault, try hard to amend the wrong, and put things right. It would be so much easier to blame someone else or make excuses. But that's not the Peter of this story. I don't even want to think about my writing qualities if I have to explain my characters instead of letting the story speak for itself...


	4. Chapter 4

It was Diana who checked early next morning the reports that had come in overnight. Most of them were routine paperwork. Picking up the next sheet from the stack of papers, she paled suddenly reading the details. The report came in at 11:27 pm. She grabbed the phone and called to get a status update. Agent Barrigan was relieved to hear that the situation hadn't compounded overnight.

"Boss, you should read this. It's about Caffrey. It's not good." She handed Burke the report.

Neal had been taken to the infirmary last night after being stabbed. The prison doctor estimated he'd been lying in his cell for at least half an hour before he'd been found. A kidney and one of his lungs were damaged and he'd lost a considerable amount of blood. He had undergone emergency surgery and whilst his condition was severe, it wasn't life threatening.

Burke drove over to the prison in a rush. At first, he was denied access to the infirmary. Still, he was very insistent, flashed his badge and finally entered the ward. There were four beds with patients in the room. Scanning the hospital beds, he didn't recognize his partner and thought the nurse had led him into the wrong room. Then, the name Neal Caffrey written on the medical chart tagged to one of the beds caught his eye.

Taking a closer look, he recognized the pale, bandaged man. Tubes and IV lines were connected to his body; his heart rate was displayed on a monitor. "Why is he restrained? You don't expect him to attempt an escape right now, do you?" The agent was incredulous and visibly annoyed.

The nurse tried to calm him down. "That's for his own good. We don't want him to tear out the medical equipment when he tosses and turns in one of his nightmares. You may sit with him, but don't expect him to wake up soon."

Half an hour later a doctor showed up and briefed Peter on Neal's medical condition. "He's been lucky. He had internal bleedings. The good news is we could stop them. We suspected a kidney rupture which fortunately didn't prove true. There'll be no permanent damage. Certainly, he will need some time to recover."

Peter shook his head. "I wouldn't say he's lucky seeing him like this... But I'm relieved to hear that he will heal."

It was an hour later when Neal's heart rate increased rapidly. The unconscious patient started to moan and convulse. Now, the agent appreciated the restrains. He wished he could do something, anything to help his friend. Following his gut instinct, he took Neal's hand and held it tight. He was stroking the back of the hand softly with his own thumb. The reaction was immediate; the heart rate steadied and the young man relaxed visibly. Nevertheless, the agent didn't let go of his friend's hand.

After lunch, he was asked to leave the room since the patients were going to have a full medical examination.

Agent Burke used the break to see the warden. He made it clear beyond doubt that he expected an investigation on the brutal attack the night before. He wouldn't settle for anything less than complete clarification. Charges had to be filed against the thugs as well as the guards who had neglected their duty.

Back at the infirmary, he was pleasantly surprised to find Neal awake. He sat back down on the chair next to the bed. "Neal, you're awake! I'm so glad you made it."

The injured man stared at him in disgust. His voice was hoarse, obviously it hurt to speak. Only three words passed his chapped lips, "Leave me alone!" Since he was restrained, he couldn't turn his back on the agent. Therefore, he was just turning his head in the other direction and closed his eyes.

Neal Caffrey retreated to his inner safe place. He could see the sublime landscape of the Côte d'Azur. The white quartz sand was glistening in the sun, the azure blue Mediterranean gleaming. He didn't hear the FBI man's voice anymore but was listening to the buzz of the cafés and shops along the sea front, accompanied with Trenet's musical piece 'La Mer'. There was no smell of disinfectants or blood, only salty sea air mixed with herbs and lavender from nearby fields. He felt the warmth on his skin and the breeze in his hair. His breathing calmed down and ease flooded through him. He retreated to this haven whenever the reality was too hard to bear.

For a couple of years, his safe place had been a living room in Brooklyn, listening to dog barks and friendly chatter in the next room, smelling freshly brewed coffee and dinner leftovers, feeling the anklet chafing his leg. Not anymore. He avoided thinking about that place at all, too much pain. The Côte d'Azur was much more comfortable right now.

Peter Burke felt frustrated. He was wondering how to get Neal to even talk to him, let alone work with him again. Or was he fighting a lost cause. The crushing words his former partner had uttered when they had parted last week came to his mind. '_You know, trust is like glass. Once broken it can't be glued together. Broken beyond repair._' Could this be true?

At 5 pm the infirmary was closed for visitors, therefore he had to leave. A gray-haired woman in plain clothes addressed him on his way out. "Agent Burke? Are you Special Agent Burke from the FBI?"

"Yes, that's right. Did the warden send you?"

"Oh no, I'm Angela Cummins, working as behavioral health counselor for the inmates. I heard you stayed with Caffrey all day. That's quite unusual for an FBI agent; hence I was curious to meet you. I know already that Caffrey has been working for you for almost 2 years. Is that the reason you came here today?" Her eyes looked friendly. In addition, her face showed genuine interest.

"It's more than that. He hasn't been merely working for me. He has been my partner… and friend."

She felt sympathetic. "Hm. It must be difficult for you that he has belied your expectations, wound up in prison again. It's always hard to bear when a friend betrays your trust."

The agent was wondering how much she knew. "To my own shame, I have to admit it has been the other way round, Mrs Cummins. Neal has done nothing wrong. Instead, I believed baseless accusations rather than trusting him as a good friend would have done. Now, he prefers to stay in prison, even though his life is in danger, and refuses to be released into my custody. Let's face it, he hates me and has every right to do so. Do you have an idea how I could get through to him?" He didn't hope for much. But if Neal had confided in her she could actually help.

"I don't think Mr. Caffrey hates you. Yes, he is disappointed and upset with all his might, but he doesn't hate you."

Peter glanced at her unbelievingly. "What makes you think that?"

A smile passed over Mrs. Cummins' face. "I've met many prisoners in all the years I've been working here. Almost all of them bring along some personal items to remind them of their life outside or the people they've left behind, as means of comfort. I've seen photos of all kinds, baby bootees, rosaries, a girlfriend's underwear, family bibles or The Communist Manifest. Name it, I've seen it. Yet, Mr. Caffrey was the very first inmate who brought a plastic sheriff's star. He had to remove the pin to conform to the prison's security guidelines, but he was very insistent to keep that sheriff's star with him. What's more, he has carried it with him until this very day. I suppose this star has some connection to you or the FBI. You don't keep such a souvenir if you hate the man it represents."

Peter was astonished and smiled wistfully, remembering the moment Neal had taken the sheriff's star. "He pinched it from a packet of cereals at my home. I didn't even know that he kept it. Then why isn't he talking to me?"

"It's complicated. He wants to reconcile with you, get his life back, at the same time he is caught in his desperation and can't overcome this mountain high pile of betrayal of trust. Unfortunately, I have to agree with you; he's not safe behind bars, plus he is running out of time. Is there any way that you can take the decision out of his hands?"

Peter hit on an idea. It might not be a legitimate thing to do, albeit most certainly a right one. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.

After leaving prison he drove straight to June's house. The housekeeper opened the door when he knocked. She refused him access very politely telling him Mrs. Ellington was not at home.

Peter stopped her before she shut the door. "Please, tell her it's about Neal. He's in danger! Serious, life-threatening danger. I need her help to save him."

The housekeeper hesitated. Before she closed the door she told him. "Please wait a moment, Agent Burke."

After a couple of moments, the front door opened and June appeared. The door stood ajar, she was blocking the entrance, looking tight-lipped. "Peter, what can I do for Neal?"

The agent understood her resentment. He knew she wouldn't grant him much time to explain. "I know I've messed things up completely. But I'm afraid Neal won't survive much longer in there. He's seriously injured and in the infirmary right now. We need to get him out, yet the only way to achieve it is making him work as a consultant for the Bureau. Evidently, he's not even willing to talk to me, still less to work with me. I need his signature on this contract regardless."

June was apparently shocked hearing the grim news. "I'm very sorry. I wish I could help. Only, he's not talking to me either. There's no way for me to persuade him into signing the document."

"I need to speak to Mozzie. Can you get in contact with him?"

The old landlady was sad at heart. "Mozzie hasn't seen Neal since his imprisonment either. He won't be able to talk him into anything. Neal has shut out everyone who's dear to him."

"June, as I've said we need his signature on the contract. I didn't say he has to sign himself. This is where Mozzie comes in. Of course, it would help if Neal's lawyer attests that everything is legit. Do you think you can help?"

She nodded and the hint of a smile flitted across her face as she opened the door wide. "Peter, please come in. Mozzie will need some time to come over. Let's drink some coffee while we're waiting..."

AN:

I love your reviews. All of them. Thank you so much.

The next chapter will need some days, it's has to be beta read first. I'd like to ask for your patience. I can promise, this story will be completed. It won't be one of those which will remain unfished. I've written most of it already. But these chapters will need a lot more quality control - even before I can hand them over to my wonderful beta...


	5. Chapter 5

**_Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending._**

(Maria Robinson)

It took almost two weeks until Neal was finally released from the infirmary. He had expected to return to his cell. Therefore, he was surprised when he was led to the administrative sector. He was even more confused when he was given his belongings and the clothes he had been wearing when he was imprisoned. "What's going on?"

The guard informed him he'd be discharged, so Neal didn't understand what was going on. It dawned on him when he spotted Agent Burke, waiting for him with an anklet in this hand, accompanied by Mozzie. Neal was taken aback. "Oh no. I won't sign your damn contract. I told you!"

Now, it was the guard's turn to be confused. "Mr. Caffrey, you've already signed the contract as required and the FBI has issued the papers needed for your discharge."

Neal looked puzzled at the documents, staring at his signature. If he hadn't been positive that he'd never signed this contract, he would have believed it was his own handwriting.

His friend barged in. "I'm his lawyer. I can attest that this is his authentic signature."

"It's not!"

The guard grew suspicious. "If you haven't signed the documents yourself we have to report falsification of documents to the authorities. That is a serious crime, as well as false testimony, someone is going to serve time for it..."

Taking a look at Burke's steady gaze and the little man's meaningful look, the prisoner knew exactly who had forged his signature. Despite feeling fooled, he didn't have the heart to accuse his friend of anything that would incur a prison sentence.

Neal sighed in resignation. "It's OK. Seriously, I signed it. Probably the meds the doctor gave me, made me suffer from memory lapses."

Neal went to change into his suit and was released from prison afterwards. Peter suppressed the urge to hug the younger man who still looked pale and withdrawn. The suit he was wearing seemed to be over-sized. Although, it wasn't the Devore which had changed in the last two months, but rather the man wearing it.

Still, the agent knew better than to comment on Neal's appearance. His consultant wasn't up for apologies or compassion, it would just make him more defiant. Like many times before, Peter just handed him the tracking anklet and asked him to do the honors. Pulling a face, the con man lifted the leg of his trouser to snap the anklet into place.

/** Two months later **/

Agent Burke hadn't pitched his hopes too high regarding Neal's behavior towards him. However, after two months it was quite agonizing to watch the younger man.

Back at the Bureau, Caffrey had started off slow. He had been still weak from his time in prison, and his lungs had hurt every now and then from the surgery. Therefore, he hadn't joined the team for field work but stayed at his desk, doing research, checking the files.

So far, the CI hadn't shown great interest in any of the cases. For though, he had helped to clear up quite a few crimes, the sparkling wit had been missing. No cheeky comments, no pert answers, no daring plans and no sign of the old Caffrey grin.

He was polite and respectful, arriving on time every morning and leaving at 5 pm sharp. He executed all orders punctually and correctly, causing no reason for complaint. The formerly outgoing con man refrained from of the usual office gossip and virtually evaded any private conversation.

Actually, it was nothing Peter Burke could blame his consultant for. However, after two months of this behavior he just couldn't take it anymore. It seemed as if only a part of his partner had returned from prison, whereas the other half had stayed locked up somewhere.

Diana had asked Caffrey to go along with her to an opening of a modern art exhibition. He declined her invitation, as well as free tickets for the Metropolitan Opera.

Jones had tried to entice Neal into a night of bar-hopping, to no effect.

The consultant had kept to himself, staying aloof from the world. He felt worn down most of the time. Nothing caught his interest. No-one got through to him. Sometimes, he was already exhausted after brushing his teeth in the morning, yet the day still stretched ahead of him. He wasn't hungry at all, food tasted like cardboard.

On one occasion, Neal was sitting on the roof top terrace, sipping a glass of Bordeaux, when the exquisite Baccarat crystal goblet slipped through his fingers. He just sat there, staring at the red liquid spreading between the shards of glass on the floor. He mused whether his life was just the same as this glass, slipping through his fingers, unable to be saved from being shattered and finally broken irrevocably, waiting to be swept up and discarded.

All the crime files at work bored him. This indifferent state didn't improve over time. Quite the opposite, it happened more and more often that he found himself sitting at his desk, secluding himself in his Côte d'Azur daydream.

Nowadays, he took a taxi to commute between June's residence and the FBI since he felt too tired to walk.

Back in his apartment, he sat there for hours, just staring out of the window. He didn't read any books or paint; he didn't explore the city within his radius; he didn't entertain his friends. All he did was – nothing.

He usually went to bed early but suffered from nightmares and insomnia. So, when the alarm clock went off the next morning he was exhausted, again.

One evening, Peter discussed the matter at home with his wife. "I just can't stand this anymore, El. He's withering away under my very nose, and I don't know how to stop it."

El objected vehemently. "Hon, actually you can't blame him! He suffered some pretty traumatic events. That's not something you brush off and go on as though nothing has happened."

Her husband was agitated. "I don't blame him! I know it's all my fault. Believe me, I apologised over and over again. It's not about me. I don't expect him to forgive and forget, or just to buddy up with me again. That's not going to happen. But I can't stand back and watch him deteriorate like this. I have offered him to be assigned to a different handler. Maybe, it's staying with me that's causing his distress."

El was surprised. "You did? What did he say?"

Peter shrugged. "Better the devil you know ..." After a moment of silence, he went on, "He doesn't trust any Federal Agents now, neither the ones he knows nor the ones he doesn't. Still I have to do something to save him. I have to stop his self-destruction. I just don't know how!"

His wife kissed him affectionately. "Peter Burke, if there is anyone at all who can make it right, that person will be you. You will find the way to fix it."

Next morning at the Bureau, Jones and Diana approached him. "Boss, we need to do something about Caffrey. I'm starting to wonder whether that guy down there at the desk is really Neal Caffrey or a body snatcher. Today, I've asked him if he'd like to accompany me to a closing event at the MoMA to see off an exhibit of contemporary American art. He hadn't even heard about it. It has been running for 6 weeks, and the world's best art forger hasn't heard about it. That sets off the alarm bells in my head!"

Jones seconded her. "Just look at him. He's wearing the same tie like yesterday. Taking Caffrey's usual dress standard into account, that's the same as if I would come to work in my basketball gear. He needs to get back to his old life. Can't you order him to leave that desk and start working in the field?"

Peter sighed. "How would that work out? Forcing him against his will to chase violent criminals? I don't want him to get killed. You're definitely right about one thing. He needs to move on from this desk and cold files. I'm working on that."

Diana was enthralled. "Do you have a plan already?"

The senior agent shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm on it. And once I've worked out the details, I might need your help. Are you game?"

Both of his team members promised support. They'd do anything to help Neal.

By a fluke, Sara Ellis called the same day. She tipped Burke off about a group of international insurance fraudsters and called in a favor at the same time. She had fallen for their trick, now her job was at stake. As a consequence, she asked the FBI for help to catch them.

Peter was excited. This was the pretext he had been looking for, a base to build upon the scheme to lure his friend out of his hibernation...

He would need Mozzie's support to make it work, as well as June's, and basically, the help of all of Neal's friends. Unfortunately, Mozzie as well as June still refused to talk to him. Both had cooperated to free Neal from prison; but ever since, they'd refused unwaveringly any contact at all.

After he had tried unsuccessfully all afternoon to call them, he went home, slightly frustrated. It was Friday, so he had hoped to set up everything over the weekend. Hence, he swallowed his remaining pride and asked Elizabeth for help.

By her request, Mozzie and June came over to convene at the Burke's home on Saturday. The mood was chilly, Caffrey's friends keeping a reserved attitude. They needed no words to bring home the message that Neal's poor condition was Peter's fault.

The FBI agent decided to be upfront with them instead of beating around the bush. "Look. If I hadn't acted like a complete moron we wouldn't be sitting here today. I'm aware of that."

Mozzie was amazed to hear that. "Now you're talking!"

June realized that their host was indeed dreading the conversation ahead. "Mozzie, just give him a chance to explain. I don't think he called us to listen to apologies. Probably, he has to tell us something important."

"Thank you June. Neal acting like vegetable isn't going to be a success story. He won't be able to get out of this state on his own. He needs our help, even though he doesn't want it. Correct me if I'm wrong."

June agreed, but couldn't see how this could work out. "All of us have tried to talk some sense into him, repeatedly. As soon as you start giving unwelcome advice he tunes out. He won't accept a helping hand."

"That's right. Therefore, we have to con him!" Peter's statement caused a moment of silence, until he filled in some details. "You don't cherish anything that you get for free. Whereas the things you have to fight for seem worthwhile. Let's make him go behind my back to solve a crime instead of me pushing him to do it!"

Mozzie was astonished. "I like the sound of your plan already, Suit. Conning the con man… What a challenge."

The FBI agent felt the need to scale down the expectations. "This is going to be dangerous. We're dealing with real, violent criminals; we're not play-acting. Once we've got started, there is no going back. We're going to con our friend into conning a criminal of the worst sort who in turn is conning an insurance company. This will be complicated and confusing. We have to go out our way to stay on top of things."

The little man had shining eyes. "Don't bother, Fed. You don't have to sell it to me. I'm in."

June, as well as El appreciated the skewed rationale behind the plan. Knowing Neal, they had figured out this was probably the only way to rescue him. Even though, it was a dangerous mission, full of risks.

They formed the scheme together, synchronized the actions to take, determining the role each of them would take on. Peter would seek the support of his fellow FBI agents. They all agreed, the secret mission would start Monday morning.

AN:  
OK, did I already mention how impressed I am by all your reviews and messages? Probably, not often enough. Thank you. I really mean it.

This chapter was already written when the season's finale happened. I had planned some heart-to-heart talks between Neal and his father in this story. But not anymore... Therefore, I had to make some last-minute changes to this chapter. It would have been easier if Jeff Eastin might have told me in advance what a detestable person James is. But to my constant regret Eastin seems to be thinking he owns White Collar ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

/* Monday */

The FBI team was sitting together in the meeting room for the regular morning briefing. Like every Monday, they recapped the leads they had been working on the week before and planned the activities ahead.

Since he has returned to the FBI, Neal did pretty much the same routine work day in, day out; research on reports and files. Hence, he wasn't spending much attention to the assignment of cases. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the scar at his forehead. He was thinking about the guy who had stabbed him with a self-made blade, created by rasping a broken bottle of glass in shape. That guy had been sentenced to some more years; Peter had seen to it that the incident had been prosecuted properly.

But that hadn't stopped Neal from waking up with a start time and again, after reliving that moment in this sleep. Right now, he felt too tired to show any interest in the team meeting.

Peter held a thin file in his hands. "We might have a new case. We've been tipped off that there is an insurance fraud involving art forgery underway. Jones, I need you to go through the NYPD reports of the last fortnight to look out for any peculiarity."

Jones was obviously miffed by the assignment. "Peter, I still have to question some witnesses of the jewelry heist I'm working on. Neal can analyze the NYPD reports. Art forgery is his area of expertise. Moreover, he is good at skimming reports and won't do field work anyway. Let him do the file shuffling."

Agent Burke's threw him a stern look. "Caffrey will stay out of this. I've assigned the task to you. Thus, I'm not going to discuss my decisions. Diana, I want you to check the entry records at the local airports. You will find the aliases to look for in this file. Please report directly to me. By the way, make sure that Organized Crime won't get wind of it."

Both of the younger agents exchanged puzzled looks. This type of routine activities was something you would shift upon a probie, or recently on Neal. Both of them had more important things to do.

The consultant has been working solely on cold cases lately. Therefore, he too, was musing why he hadn't been condemned to that dull task. However, he didn't really care and had forgotten the incident as soon as the meeting was over.

The day passed by uneventful. Jones grumbled while working his way through the stack of reports on his desk, but he ensured that his boss didn't overhear his silent bickering. He hadn't yet finished the paperwork, when Neal clocked off punctual to the minute.

Later that evening, Mozzie dropped in, trembling with excitement. He was carrying a small package, wrapped in brown paper. "Mon frére, this is too good to be true!" He fetched a glass to pour himself a glass of wine before he sat down at the table. He was dying to share his news.

Neal was amused. "Moz, I'd say sit down and join me for a glass of wine. Only, you already did. Why are you so excited? Did you find out the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa?"

Mozzie was just slightly irritated by the distracting question. "Jimmy Hoffa? The CIA cut him a deal, whereby he spent his retirement years in Argentina. But that's not the point. This", he unwrapped the package, "will make a packet of money."

When the paper was unwrapped, a beautiful and decidedly old icon painting was unveiled. Probably, of Greek or Russian origin. The former art forger was intrigued. "That is marvelous. High quality, probably 15th century, could be a Rubljow or one of his scholars. Why is this expensive icon lying on my kitchen table?"

"I was hired by a complete schmock, lots of money but no understanding of art, to purchase a new masterpiece and make a copy of it. His wife owns a small collection of icon paintings. Apparently, they remind her of her late grandmother. When she grew up, her grandma had some cheap icons hanging in her kitchen back in some village in Russia. She married rich and convinced her husband to buy her an abundance of icon arts. I got this icon from a mutual friend to offer for sale."

"Mutual friend? Fencing art pieces? Is Alex back in town?"

Mozzie looked mysterious. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it. Wait, I haven't told you the best part, yet. Now, my client's wife has decided that she needs copies of the art pieces because she wants to admire them in her Manhattan apartment as well as in her residence in Florida."

Neal wasn't impressed. "So they commissioned you to copy the icon. That will certainly bring in some money, but I won't expect any riches for a simple job like that."

"Ha, I guess you've lost the touch after working for the Feds all those years. Otherwise, I wouldn't have to explain the obvious to you. We are going to make two copies instead of one. Neither he nor his half-wit wife will see the difference. I met her today. I tell you, it's going to be a walk in the park. Then, we can sell the original icon for lots of money. I'm sure, my clients will be enthralled by your replica, hence giving us the remaining pieces of their collection to replicate. And then, voila, we have a dozen or so masterpieces in our hands."

Neal raised his hands. "Wow, wow, wow. Hold it! My replica? I'm not going to get involved in this. I won't forge this icon, or any other icon. Go and find someone else. I told you before, I'm not up for cons right now."

"Oh Neal, come on. This opportunity is just too good to waste. Stop being such a bore! Adventure is worthwhile in itself!"

But his friend rejected categorically. Caffrey wasn't interested in committing a crime, as little as he was interested in solving a crime. He wasn't interested in anything at all.

Mozzie didn't cease to rave all evening about the extraordinary opportunity, the intellectual challenge, the fun usually involved in a con. Eventually, he left frustrated.

/* Tuesday */

The team met for the daily update on the current cases. Diana was the first one to report. "I checked the immigration records: Our suspect entered the country at JFK 10 days ago. He was accompanied by his wife and had stated a posh apartment building as his temporary address."

Burke was pleased with the news. "Jones, what have you found out?"

"There seems to be an unusual interest in Russian icons. There was an attempted heist at a private home in Manhattan, plus another one in Long Island. Both of them failed, though another one in Little Odessa succeeded. I'm still waiting for the details from the local police station, though I stay with it."

All of a sudden, Neal felt a weird tingling sensation on this skin. It might be just a coincidence, yet listening to his instincts had saved his life more than once. It might be worth to dig into. The con man was wary about volunteering to help, although after some struggle he made up his mind. "I could get in contact with the police and sort out the details, ask them to send over the complete file. Jones still has the jewelry heist to investigate."

His handler put the offer down politely but firmly. "No thanks. Jones has started to work this case; he will finish it. Let's get started."

Before Jones could even start to raise a complaint, the meeting was over; so he was once again condemned to desk research. He looked a bit sour. After Burke has left the room, Caffrey offered casually help. "Listen Clinton, if you need a hand I can fill in. It doesn't really matter which files I'm reading."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate the help. Only, Peter doesn't take it well if his express requests are ignored. You've had plenty first-hand experience yourself with having been read the riot act. Too bad, but I'd better hurry to finish my homework..." Jones grabbed the file and left the room.

Later on, he informed his boss that the con man probably had been hooked. Peter knew that Caffrey would set the pace. Now it was Mozzie's move, yet they had to wait and see how the con man responded before they could go ahead. Peter didn't really feel comfortable with the whole situation. Conning a friend was acting contrary to his principles. Admittedly, he still didn't see any other way to help his friend. Therefore, he had to go through with this. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

It was a first for Neal that he felt cut out from a case. Just a few days ago, he wouldn't have been bothered at all if Peter had excluded him from an investigation. Right now, he felt a little sting, mixed with a bit of worry, suspecting that Mozzie was somehow involved in whatever crime was going on.

At night, Mozzie came in to coax Neal once again into forging the icon. This time his pleading was more intense. "You can't let me down. I need your help with this one. I'm a bit pressed for time. Furthermore, there's no-one around who could do the job as good as you. In fact, it's quite difficult to find a forger who is even able to tell the difference between a Greek and a Russian icon, leave alone the subtleties involved with late medieval art."

His friend rejected the plea once again. Moreover, he warned the little man. "Moz, there is some investigation going on at the Bureau. I don't have any details. However, East European icons are involved as well as Russian criminals, probably organized crime. Maybe, there is more in this job than you've anticipated and you should back out."

The little man stared directly into his friend's blue eyes. "Neal, I beseech you for help. Please, don't leave me high and dry. Probably, you're right, this client isn't a schmock."

"Then back out!"

Mozzie turned towards the door. "I can't. It's too late already." He forced a strained smile. "Don't worry, I'll find a way. Like Einstein said: _Reality is merely an illusion…_"

Neal looked unhappy when he finished the quote. "… _albeit a very persistent one_. Moz, those people are dangerous, the logical consequence is to call it off! It's just not worth it."

His friend seemed secretive when he quoted Einstein once more. "_Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere._ I have to go, meet one of my contacts. See you around."

"Take care!" Sitting alone in his apartment, Neal felt cheap. It wasn't the first time that he had refused a job Mozzie hat offered him. Only this time, he sensed danger involved with the con - which his friend had to face alone this once. On the other hand, he didn't feel like forging a painting or conning a dangerous criminal. He was torn between this lethargy and concern for his friend. He paced through his apartment for hours but couldn't make up his mind. Damn Einstein!

His handler down in his home, in Brooklyn, wasn't having a restful night either. He was haunted by a recurring nightmare about himself, trying to catch a beautiful glass art object from falling. Each and every time he failed to save the sculpture, consequently it busted asunder in thousands upon thousands of pieces. He didn't need a shrink to read this dream, the interpretation was quite obvious. Even, if the dream wouldn't have been supplemented with a sound track in Neal's voice … "Trust is like glass. Once broken it can't be glued together."

AN:

Sorry, the upddate took so long. Thanks for your patience, once again...  
The next chapter won't take so long, probably a couple of days.


	7. Chapter 7

/* Wednesday */

Peter, Diana and Jones were sitting in the conference room, staring at the large image of an icon, shown on the big screen at front. Neal wasn't invited to join them, but hey, when had this kept him off before? He felt a whiff of glee at the prospect of annoying his handler. He walked into the room and took a seat.

Peter was irritated. "Neal? We're discussing a case..." He waited, not willing to let out any more details. By all appearances, he was expecting the younger man to leave the room.

Yet, his consultant took a close look at the documents spread out on the table. "I've seen you, staring at the icon and was wondering if that's the stolen piece? It's not really rare or precious. I'd guess it's worth a couple of thousands. Why does the FBI investigates petty crimes? Whatever, perhaps I can help. I know a thing or two about icons."

Agent Burke turned the offer down. "Neal, that's not the point. This is an investigation under non-disclosure. I have to ask you to leave."

Neal flinched at the rejection. That came out pretty harsh. Not that he was eager to help his handler, but he needed to learn more about this case. Probably, Mozzie was involved. Plus, he wanted to protect his friend. It was more than enough if one of them had experienced prison.

Jones complained. "Think about it, Peter. Probably, he actually knows a lot about these icons and his help would save a lot of time. She wouldn't mind if he's working on it."

The senior agent shook his head. "She would, believe me. Yet, on second thought, maybe you're right... We're under serious time pressure."

Neal was curious. "She, who is she?"

His handler brushed the question aside. "Never mind. Tell me everything I need to know about these three icons." He displayed a slide show of 3 different icon paintings.

Neal saw clearly that the icon Mozzie had shown him wasn't among them. Only, he didn't know whether this was cause for concern or relief. "Two of them are Russian icons, one is of Greek origin. Probably, they're late 19th century. None of them is especially valuable. The first one has even a large tear at the top, definitely not worth stealing. Unless there is some religious value in it. What's the story behind it?"

"Someone has spread the news that he is looking for an icon painting and is willing to pay a high price. Now, half of the New York criminals are on the hunt for these paintings. But obviously, the client is looking for something special and is not satisfied with the plunder."

Diana chimed in. "To make things worse, we've heard rumors some smart-aleck is trying to rip off the customer. Probably, he is not aware that he's dealing with organized crime, some really bad guys who have killed wayward partners before without hesitation."

Neal feigned indifference, pushed his chair back and rose. "OK, I hope I could help. I'm going back to my own files. I don't want to keep you off from your work any longer."

Down in the bullpen, he tried to call Mozzie right away. When his friend didn't answer the phone, he sent him a text message to get in contact. Of course, he didn't know that Peter had already texted the little man to remain out of reach.

During the day, Neal called and texted several times, to no avail.

It was a shortly after 3 pm, when Agent Burke called the complete team in, including the Harvard co-eds as well as his CI. They were going to plan an undercover operation and as usually, this needed full back-up.

Peter addressed the team. "Here are the facts: Our prime suspect is Nicolai Orlov, husband of Tatjana Orlova, also referred to as Poppy. As a consequence, he's also son-in-law of Michail Lasarew. You might have heard of Lasarew who controls approximately 60% of the illegal arms trade in Eastern Europe. His son-in-law has specialized in insurance fraud.

Orlov's using different aliases, but his scheme stays unchanged. He gets in contact with a local representative of an insurance company to cover an art collection. He's not going for the big names in art, instead he chooses some special interest field. It has been medieval bibles when he hit in Zurich, Mughal paintings in Istanbul and Chinese lacquer-ware of the late Ming-dynasty in London.

He presents a genuine piece of art to the insurance company. The insurance company commissions an expert opinion to assess its value. Later on, Orlov requests insurance cover for the rest of his collection – which consists of counterfeits. Since there are not that many experts available on this special field of interest, Orlov knows where the pieces will be sent to. He breaks in to steal the pieces of art. The insurance company has no proof that the stolen goods are cheap forgeries, hence pays fair market value."

Neal could put two and two together. "It was Sara who tipped you off. They hit Sterling Bosch!"

Peter agreed. "Yes, that's right. They preyed on Sterling Bosch three times already. Sara suspects that they have a man on the inside. The sting they pulled in London is blamed on Sara. She had handled the customer and was the only one who was involved in all details. The expert who should assess the lacquer ware was killed during the burglary."

Neal could imagine how Sara felt about this. She would keep on and on until she had hunted down the guy who had deceived her. She tended to take these things personally...

The FBI agent continued. "So, now they are going to strike in New York, using Russian icons."

One of the probies asked about his plan. "We'll send someone in undercover. Orlov needs a front man who will approach the insurance company as well as someone who takes care of the forgeries"

Without any marked enthusiasm, Neal accepted the inevitable. "That would be me."

After all, Mozzie's life was at hazard, and Sara needed help, too. It might very well be that it was about time to quit desk work. He felt a bit annoyed by all the paperwork.

He was caught off guard by his handler's reply. "Nope, Jones will go in undercover."

The con man refused to believe it. "Seriously? How should that work out? How much does he know about Russian icon paintings? I'm the perfect con man."

His handler remained firm. "Yes, seriously. This is just too dangerous."

"I've worked for you undercover many times before. This sting isn't more dangerous than any other we have run before. And it's every bit as dangerous for Jones as it would be for me – except that I know how to act in a criminal environment without standing out like a sore thumb."

Peter didn't know how to put it into words. Finally, after drawing a deep breath, he started to talk. "Neal, you've confined yourself to desk work for many months. The last time you've gone undercover, has been more than 5 months ago. Look at you! You appear starved and slimmed down. You're physical fitness is below the requirements. We're dealing with the Russian mob, probably guns, serious stuff. I don't wanna risk losing you. Don't get me wrong. I'm supporting your idea to get back to the field. But let's start slow. Why don't you join Diana in the investigation of a fund-raising scam?"

Neal was fuming. "My fitness is below the requirements? I appear starved? I'm a pathetic wimp, that's it? Look at this! "He brushed a strand of hair out of his face to point at the pink scar running across his forehead. "Listen up! I haven't had any problems with my health or my fitness a few months ago. That was of course, before you've decided to dump me in prison. That was before you've decided to blame untenable accusations on me. Don't you dare patronizing me! I'm every bit up to my usual standards, certainly meeting each and every requirement this job will impose."

A deafening silence followed. The agents and probies avoided eye contact with Peter, staring elsewhere. The situation was awkward.

Finally, the senior agent spoke softly. "Believe me, if I could find a way, I'd take back those words that sent you back to prison. I don't know why I did the things I did. I didn't really mean to hurt you and didn't want to see you go. But it is as it is. I can't turn back time. Yet, I can prevent that more bad things happen to you. Therefore, I stick to it. You're not going undercover in the Orlov case. That's fact."

"Well, screw you!" Neal stormed out of the conference room, slamming the door. He picked up his Fedora and left the office. He didn't care about fixed work hours. Down on the street, he was looking for a taxi to go home. But then, he changed his mind and walked. He reaffirmed himself that he had been driving the last months just by chance. He still was able to walk the distance, doubting his physical fitness was outrageous. Being on the way, he decided to check out Mozzie's safe houses. Maybe, his worries were entirely unnecessary.

Back at the Bureau, Agent Burke had disbanded the meeting. Only Diana was still sitting together with him in the conference room. "Boss, this was pretty intense. Do you think he will be OK?"

"I should think so. At least, he showed some emotion. That's better than the former apathy." At least, Peter hoped this was true.

"You were fairly convincing. I would have believed Caffrey's not up for the challenge if I haven't known it's a farce. What will you do if he's going to follow your order?"

Her boss mulled over the idea. "Just as well. This operation is going to be dangerous. If he's not willing to overcome my opposition, he's not yet ready. I don't want to risk his life or safety; that part wasn't a farce."

Dusk was approaching when Neal reached home. He hadn't found any trace of Mozzie; the safe houses had been deserted and none of his phone messages had been answered. He was afraid, that after all, his worries might not have been ungrounded.

He met June when he entered the house. "Neal, you look worn out. Are you alright?"

After explaining the situation to her, he asked for advice. "Oh, I don't know. Most certainly, it's good to hear that you want to assume a more active role, start to take your live into your hands again. I was so concerned about your half-heartedness. Still, I don't know... Maybe, Peter is not completely wrong. Are you sure that your physical as well as emotional shape is sufficient? You mean a lot to me, I'm aware the last months have been difficult for you. I don't want you to get hurt even more." June hugged her tenant, tears misting her eyes; then she left him to his thoughts.

Neal was profoundly touched by this display of affection. Nevertheless, he was determined to induce his handler to change his mind. Life wasn't always about being safe. There was more needed than being safe to make the difference between surviving and living.

Right now, he felt bone-tired. However, it was not the usual chronic fatigue he had felt lately but exhaustion from wandering around for more than 4 hours.

AN:  
Obviously, Peter had heard three days in a row Cher's song 'Turn back time' in the radio on his way to work. Therefore, some of the lyrics slipped in his mind when he talked to Neal...

Well, not really. It was me who happened to hear this old song all the time in the radio. Somehow, this seemed like fate wanting to give me a broad hint. And who am I to resist fate? Once again, no copyright infringement was intended.

Finally, I'm trying to allure you with 2 promises concerning the next chapter to stay tuned:

1. Probably, the next chapter will be beta-read again. (Keep my fingers crossed.)

2. In any case, there will be a scene with a shirtless Neal :-)

Thank you all so much for your constant support and praise.


	8. Chapter 8

/* Thursday */

Neal woke up early the next morning and something felt odd. It took him a while to realize that he felt well rested, probably for the first time within the last 4 months. There hadn't been any nightmares or rolling around sleeplessly. This was definitely a good start to the day on which he was about to seize an undercover mission. Yes, it felt odd, but not bad, not bad at all.

The consultant called Sara on his way to Federal Plaza. He remembered Peter mentioning that she hadn't wanted him on the case. Now, he was going to find out why.

His former girlfriend was pleasantly surprised by the call. She made no secret of her original intentions. "There's a good reason for keeping you off the case. I don't want you to get hurt. Granted, no one would be more qualified for this undercover job than you. But you're still recovering. That's why I want to keep you off this case – and I mean it. Stay off, please!"

Neal sighed in frustration. "Let me guess ... Peter called to tell you that I've bitten off more than I can chew. Dangerous criminals. Guns. Starving and miserable consultant. Take it slow. One step at a time. Did I forget anything?"

Sara felt uncomfortable. "I understand your anger. You still feel betrayed and have every right in the world to do so. It's hard to rebuild trust. I'm not exactly an expert on relationships or trust matters in general myself. Frankly, I'm worried about you. Needless to say, as the woman you have proposed to, I'm entitled to worry."

Neal could hear her smile across the 3,500 miles separating them. She went on. "Are you really able to face the risks and dangers involved in this mission? Probably, Peter got caught up in confusion about this as well as I did."

Her fake fiancée affirmed there was no need to worry; he was fit and well. Before she ended the call, Sara appealed to Neal once more. "Call me if you need help. If you should realize you're in over your head, I'll be there to help. I'm not saying this will happen, just if."

Neal felt strangely touched by her clumsy attempt to, hmm, do what exactly? Talk him out of it? Support him?

Neal arrived early at the Bureau. Peter wasn't in yet, but Hughes was. Which was just perfect, since the conman had planned to have a private conversation with his handler's boss. He didn't waste any time and headed over to Hughes' office.

Half an hour later, he was wearing a smug smile as he walked over to the conference room with Hughes. Mission accomplished! Peter wouldn't be amused. Neal didn't want to miss out on all the fun when Hughes broke the good news to his handler.

Peter was busy setting up the job ahead with the team. His boss declared the meeting closed and asked everyone except the senior agent to leave the office. Neal was waiting outside, leaning against the wall. Although he couldn't hear anything through the closed door, the visual impression he got was quite revealing. His handler was royally pissed off, pulling a wry face when his boss left.

"Neal, conference room! Now."

The consultant casually entered the room and flopped into a chair. He stared into Peter's eyes with a steadfast gaze, full of defiance.

Burke didn't hold back. "I don't believe this. You went behind my back to coax Hughes. Congratulations, you can be proud of yourself. Obviously, you convinced him that Jones doesn't know enough about art or con tricks to do the undercover job. Fortunately, you speak Russian as well. So, this job is yours! Well done! I hope you don't get more than you bargained for. Still, I don't get it ... Why do you want this assignment so badly? Tell me!"

Neal wasn't willing to confide the truth. Probably, his handler's only concern would be to serve justice and send Mozzie to prison for the alleged crimes involved in the operation. Trusting a Fed is like eating glass. If you don't like the taste of your own blood, you should refrain from doing so. Hence, he gave a non-committal answer.

"You were right. I think it's about time to resume my former life. I can't hide inside this office forever."

Peter shook his head. "Cut the crap. There's more behind that. I know you. This mission is dangerous already, even without my CI pursuing a hidden agenda. You need to trust me on this; otherwise, it's going to be hard to protect you out there." He sounded pleading and resigned at the same time.

Neal just shrugged his shoulders, rubbing the scar on his forehead absentmindedly as he stared at the table. His handler recognized defeat. "Ok then! Let's get started. We have a lot to plan if we want to make this work. '_Work_' meaning arresting the bad criminal and letting the good CI come out unharmed." Eventually, named CI flashed a faint smile.

The complete team spent the day making the necessary preparations. Neal slipped smoothly back into the role of the CI going undercover. When Diana asked him to join her for lunch, he realized in astonishment that he felt actually hungry. He persuaded her to go to a sushi bar in downtown instead of grabbing a tasteless sandwich from the shop across the street.

After work, Neal had taken a shower and was sitting in his apartment still shirtless, reading intel on Orlov. Suddenly the door was pushed open and someone stormed in. "Where is he? Even more important, where is my painting?"

The ex-criminal was stunned. "Alex! I'm pleased to see you again, too, after all this time. Thanks for asking. I'm fine. How are you?"

She didn't come to exchange courtesies. "Cut it out, Caffrey! I've given a prized icon painting to Mozzie. He wanted to pay me off today. Only, he's not taking my calls. Where is he? But first of all, get dressed!"

Alex didn't show her dismay. She couldn't remember the handsome man being all skin and bones ever before, not to mention those scars on this chest. What a shame! Reminiscing, she smiled at the pleasant memory of Neal's well-toned body. Both of them had shared some pretty pleasurable experiences, on and off. She wasn't a particularly caring person, but she hoped with all her heart and soul that he would get his act together. It would be too bad to lose him.

Neal had known Alex for too long to be offended by her bluntness and put on a shirt. "Sorry, I didn't expect visitors. Otherwise, I would have postponed my shower. Maybe you would have been interested in joining me? It has been a while, hasn't it?" He smiled teasingly at her.

"No thanks. Business before pleasure. Once again, in plain terms: Where is Mozzie? Where is my money?"

Neal got serious. "I don't know. I've been looking for him too. I'm afraid he might have gotten into trouble."

Alex confirmed his concerns. Furthermore, she told him some details regarding Mozzie's business partners. They seemed to be ruthless and determined. Before she left, she hugged Neal, who in turn promised to call her as soon as he found Mozzie.

AN:  
Here's the next chapter. I am very, very glad that larura has volunteered to beta read. Thanks to her, this chapter can be read without having a rash breakout from grammar and spelling errors.

I'm so excited that still so many of you keep up with the story!


	9. Chapter 9

/* Friday */

Once again, Neal woke up early after a restful night. He hadn't been jogging for ages, but today was as good a day as any to start again. He had hit on many of his very best ideas during early-morning runs. His handler would probably dissent about the excellence of these ideas since at least some of them hadn't been strictly legit. But hey, who cared? He was nevertheless proud of them.

Back from his rounds along Riverside Park, he met June on her way up with a basket full of tantalizing smelling pastries. He angled for an invitation and wasn't disappointed.

They enjoyed a shared breakfast on the rooftop terrace, with Italian roast, fresh pastries and light conversation. Even though Neal had been back from prison for two months, his landlady still felt as if it was the first time the formerly-outgoing person had showed up. She had missed him dearly.

Later on, when the conman had left for the office, June called Elizabeth. "El, would you mind telling Peter that his plan is already showing effect?"

"Wait, you can talk to him yourself. He's still at home." El went looking for her husband, when June stopped her.

"No, it's fine. You can pass on the information just as well. Neal has taken up jogging again. Furthermore, he joined me for a hearty breakfast this morning. I've really missed his company - I hadn't been able to sweet-talk him into joining me for either breakfast or dinner over the last couple of months. He looks way too slim. Please, tell Peter to watch out for him, will you?"

When Elizabeth delivered the good news to her husband, she was wondering why the older lady had called her instead of talking to Peter. He, of course, knew that she was still bore a grudge against him and would rather not talk to him in person. He understood her concerns. But still, it hurt a bit.

The undercover operation got going. The FBI had spread the word that George Devore, aka Neal Caffrey, a brilliant art forger and fence who had recently re-entered the country, was on the lookout for a job. It hadn't taken long until Orlov contacted Devore to ask for a meeting.

Apparently, Orlov was cautious. He insisted on a meeting at a public place. The first contact was set to happen at a charity lunch for Chechen orphanages at Bryant Park Hotel. It was Jones who undid the tracking anklet to exchange it for the fake watch with GPS and voice transmission.

Peter and Jones were waiting in the surveillance van while the CI approached the hotel. Jones was speculating. "He's off anklet. Have you ever admitted the thought that he might just run?"

Peter smiled to himself. "Yes, I have."

After waiting in vain for a few moments for his boss to continue, he asked further. "So what would you do if he ran?"

"I would wait an hour or two. After that, just the usual - road blocks, wanted posters ..." It was true, he had been musing about this possibility. Frankly, if Neal ran this time, he wouldn't keep him back. If fleeing to a far-away island was what the younger man needed to get his life back, then that's how it should be. But he nurtured hope that his partner would stay. Strange as it seemed, he even hoped beyond hope that one day they would be friends once again. Just like Dumas had put it into words "_All human wisdom is summed up in two words; wait and hope._" Damn it! He had clearly spent too much time with Mozzie and Neal. He was starting to think in brainy quotes.

Jones looked a bit confused when his boss chuckled silently.

In the hotel across the street, the conversation between Orlov and his potential frontman started slow and unpromising. The Russian criminal was suspicious since Devore hadn't been suggested by a mutual partner; in addition to that, the reference jobs he was quoting were a bit outdated. Neal tried a different tactic. He involved Poppy, Orlov's wife, into the conversation, charming her skillfully.

She was a good-looking woman in her thirties, wearing high-end designer clothes and heavy jewelry. The conman didn't need long to find out that she went to an exclusive boarding school near Geneva in Switzerland and had spent some years in Paris. Following this lead, they soon discovered that both had some common acquaintances in the fashion industry.

After that, Orlov relaxed visibly, eventually showing some interest in the young man. He probed Devore's general knowledge on icon paintings as well as insurance proceedings, but didn't talk about any actual illegal activities and stayed non-committal. However, he seemed to be content enough with the impression he got to invite Devore over to his apartment to talk business that afternoon. He also requested that the art forger bring some work samples along with him.

Neal joined the FBI agents in the van. "So far, so good. I guess I'm in. I'm going to show him some of my art replicas; that will seal the deal." Modesty wasn't exactly his middle name.

Jones grinned. "I'm glad you snatched that undercover job. I wouldn't have made it through the first interview. What's that Lucerne Festival you were talking about? Do they actually roast snails in butter and eat it?" He shuddered in disgust.

Peter was less enthusiastic. "Right now, Orlov will check those mutual friends you named. Do these contacts hold up?"

The CI looked self-confident. "They do. I didn't make them up. Of course they will remember making business with George Devore."

"What business did you do in the fashion industry? Is fashion designer another one of your careers?" Peter was surprised.

"I don't want to go into any details. Let's just assume that one could make a lot of money with counterfeit designer accessories. Allegedly. I'm not talking about those cheap Chinese copies but quality goods." Neal beamed at the memory of his former deeds.

Agent Burke rolled his eyes and couldn't believe that criminal activities still turned up in Caffrey's life that he didn't know anything about.

When the ex-forger went to his apartment to collect the paintings, he was mulling over the missing anklet. He was still off anklet, and it would be a perfect opportunity to escape. If only he wasn't worried sick about Mozzie, who was still missing. On top of that, he wanted to solve the case to prove that he wasn't the pathetic wimp Peter saw. For whatever reason, he was looking forward to his handler giving him the much-deserved credit.

Later that day, Neal entered Orlov's apartment carrying a selection of his paintings, all of them copies of famous art pieces. He was hired on the spot, and his new boss unveiled the plan to con the insurance company. Obviously, he had hired a frontman before. By all appearances, that guy had tried to deceive him. Orlov left no doubt that he didn't tolerate betrayal.

Neal nodded consent. "Got that. Can you show me the icon painting that I'm going to present to the insurance company? I wanna make sure it's genuine."

He wasn't surprised to see the very same icon Mozzie had shown him some days ago. It went without saying that this wasn't a forgery, but the genuine icon. The conman tried to find out what had happened to his predecessor in the job. But the only information he got from Orlov was that the guy had disappeared. Whether he disappeared by his own free will or disappeared with the help of a bullet was left out.

They agreed to meet on Monday, when George Devore would pick up the icon and bring it to the insurance company for the upcoming expertise.

Neal was aware that the FBI team in the van had listened to the conversation. They had agreed to meet at the Bureau to discuss the next steps. On the way back, the ex-criminal was getting worked up about Mozzie's disappearance. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. How could he ever trust his handler again, after all he had done? On the other hand, Peter had been helpful in the past; furthermore, the FBI would have the means to find Mozzie.

Finally, he managed to make up his mind. He saw Peter sitting in his office, lost in a report, and knocked at his door. "Am I disturbing you?"

His handler looked up and smiled wryly. "When did that keep you out before? Come in." He leaned back and signaled Neal to take a seat.

The conman entered and sat down in an empty chair. Peter waited for him to start the conversation. After a while, when Neal hadn't said anything, his handler joked, "Hemingway once said that it takes two years to learn to talk and a lifetime to learn to shut up. Obviously, you've mastered that art already."

The CI cleared his throat. "You've listened when I was talking to Orlov?"

Burke nodded. Neal continued speaking. "The guy who cheated Orlov. The one who had disappeared ... Most likely, that was Mozzie." It cost him quite an effort to confide into his handler. He didn't trust him, how could he? But then again, maybe it was time to take a leap of faith.

The FBI agent reacted surprised. "Mozzie? Why do you think it was him?"

"He told me some confusing story involving icons, Russian clients and a sure-fire method to make a fast buck. He sounded less enthusiastic when I talked to him last Tuesday. I haven't been able to get a hold of him since then. I've been checking all his safe places as well as my street contacts." Neal was visibly troubled.

Burke concluded the obvious. "He's the reason why you wanted this undercover job so badly."

Neal nodded. "I let him down. He asked for my help, but I refused. Now, he might be in danger, and I need to find him."

Peter tried to reassure him. "It's Mozzie! So, I wouldn't worry too much. He's probably hiding somewhere safe and keeping a low profile until the coast is clear." Still, he promised to look out for the little man.

Elizabeth offered some help with the case too. An old friend of hers worked at the Tzarev Gallery. She was able to provide 16th century wood panels and the pigments needed to mix egg tempera in addition to some rare art books on Russian Icon paintings as inspiration for Neal. The latter asked his handler to give thanks to his wife. He appreciated the unexpected help.

### Saturday ###

Thanks to El's help, Neal was able to start working on the icon forgeries right after sunrise. The light was perfect, and he enjoyed the act of painting wholeheartedly. He felt completely at ease, not spending a single thought on anything else but the icon, the right colors and painting technique.

It was already afternoon when he checked this watch for the first time that day. When he was painting, it was as if he had fallen through a rabbit hole, and from that moment on, he was disconnected from reality, living in a fantasy world without rules or obligations. It was pure bliss. Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable for him.

Neal was wondering why he hadn't painted or sculptured for ages. However, he couldn't think of any convincing reasons. Art had always enabled him to both find himself and lose himself at the same time. It was as if he had built on failure, used it as a stepping stone. He should probably close the door to the recent past. Not to forget the hardship, but not dwelling on it either. He wouldn't let it have any more of his energy, or time, or his space.

Now, there were the more mundane parts of art forgery lying ahead. Aging a wooden icon was somewhat more difficult than aging a watercolor. But then again, he was still one of the world's best art forgers and handled the delicate task to perfection.

That evening, Neal went to bed with a sense of elation. Painting all day, he had been immersed in the work. Strangely enough, he hadn't spent any thoughts on his missing friend – who was ultimately the reason why he got entangled in this case in the first place.

As he cleaned the brushes in the evening, he felt a certain sereneness, being absolutely certain that Mozzie was still alive and well. When you start using senses you've neglected, your reward is to see the world with entirely fresh eyes.

It wouldn't have been the first time that he had gone underground, cutting all means of communication to reappear once the danger had been averted. Things would fall into place.

AN:

Thanks to larura who has once again beta read this chapter. I'm so glad about her help.

If anyone entertains doubts about Neal being able to forge an icon painting in just one day: he is able to carve a solid block of marble over night into a sculpture. Therefore, he won't fail to complete such a simple task.

There are 4 more chapters to come. Please stay tuned :-) and review.


	10. Chapter 10

/* Sunday */

Sunday morning had begun slowly with an extended breakfast when Neal received an unexpected call from Orlov. His client summoned him to a small Russian tea room, called _The Samovar_. He didn't sound friendly and gave no explanation for his request. The whole affair boded ill. Therefore, Neal didn't hesitate to contact Peter to inform him on the unforeseen turn the job had taken.

Agent Burke was immediately alarmed. "Neal, you shouldn't go there. The Samovar isn't a place for old ladies to enjoy a cup of Lapsang, it's more or less an employment agency for criminals, a meeting place for the mob. It's too dangerous."

The consultant disagreed. "I have to go. If I back out now, we'll lose Mozzie's trace once and for all. Plus, we won't be able to identify the sellout at Sterling Bosch or save Sara's job either. _Never was anything great achieved without danger._ I'll be careful. Promise!"

"Thanks for the groundbreaking word of wisdom, Machiavelli…" His handler tried to reason with his partner, but in the end, he gave in, and called in FBI back up to protect his CI. Fortunately, there was an FBI team on standby for emergencies. Once again, the transmitting watch would be used to wiretap the conversation.

Burke was sitting in the surveillance van so he could monitor the meeting, along with Diana and two other agents. The rest of the team took up position undercover on the street, observing the tea room. If required, they would be ready to rush in to rescue the CI.

The conman arrived a couple of minutes later, ostensibly eased, and apparently a bit annoyed. "Orlov, why did I have to abandon my Sunday brunch? It's a shame to let that champagne go to waste."

Orlov didn't lose any time. The moment Neal sat down, he was confronted with a blurred photo taken from a security camera at a jewelry shop. The photo was grainy but bore a striking resemblance to Caffrey.

"My father-in-law sent this picture tonight. Obviously, one of his associates did business with someone named Steve Tabernacle a couple of years ago. Either you have a twin brother, or you lied to me about your identity. Why didn't you tell me your real name? I don't tolerate being lied to." His voice was calm but threatening. In combination with the gun lying in front of him on the table, this was setting Neal's nerves on edge.

Peter's mind raced as he listened to the conversation. He weighed the odds and made a bold choice. Grabbing one of those FBI jackets with large print on the back, he ordered Diana to do the same and follow him. They both rushed into the tea room, making a big fuss.

Once he'd spotted Neal, Burke yelled in full FBI Agent mode, "Steve Tabernacle. You are under arrest for bond forgery. Or should I call you George Devore, Nick Halden or," Peter hesitated a moment, "Louis Armstrong? Whatever, it doesn't matter - none of these aliases that you've been using will keep you from prison. Hands over your head! Diana, cuff him!"

Orlov shook his head slightly. This was enough for his men to close in and start shouting in a foreign language. They blocked the view of the table where Neal and their boss had been sitting. Orlov used the opportunity to usher the conman through the back door, right into a waiting car. The FBI had no way to keep them from disappearing. Peter just hoped that his spontaneous action would work out well.

Fortunately, it did. Sitting in the back of the car, George Devore seemed a bit badgered while he tried to adjust his tie. "Well, now you probably understand the reason for my change of name. This suit has been following me for months, and he was closing in. Damn it! We have to finish this job as soon as possible. I need the payoff to drop off the radar."

This explanation was reasonable enough for his criminal boss to drop the subject. His concerns regarding the integrity of the hired frontman were dispelled for the time being. They re-confirmed to meet Monday morning and get the insurance con underway.

Afterwards, when Neal had joined the FBI team, he confronted his handler. "Louis Armstrong? Seriously, I thought we agreed to forget this dark chapter of your imaginativeness." The thought alone made him shudder.

Peter chuckled. "Sorry, I'm not an alias savant like you. Still, I didn't expect you to be so squeamish. In fact, I thought he might have heard about Neal Caffrey. Your name has been in the press on a number of occasions. And I was in a hurry. Louis Armstrong wasn't such a bad choice, considering."

Caffrey shrugged. "Anyway, it worked. I will meet Orlov tomorrow to get the con up and running. I hope we will find out who's ratting out the insurance company soon. I still don't have any news from Mozzie. Have you found anything?"

Agent Burke looked apologetic. He was searching for words. "I checked all the FBI's sources. He didn't raise any flags. I wish I could tell you where Mozzie is right now. Or even more, that he will be waiting for you at June's place tonight to pester you." He hadn't told a lie - maybe not the complete truth, but not a lie. Although, being Peter, this still didn't feel right. It was especially hard to hide the truth when he was looking directly into Neal's troubled eyes.

When Peter Burke entered his home, he mused how true it had been that he wished Mozzie would be at Neal's tonight. The moment he opened the front door, he heard the little man discussing one of his many conspiracy theories with El. He had listened to so many of them over the last week that his nerves were quite frayed.

He was longing for a relaxing, silent evening alone with his wife. Or an evening watching a game on TV, without having to answer questions of why anyone would be interested in catching a little ball in mid-air when you could buy a dozen of them at any store for $30. Or, at least a breakfast without comments on the unhealthy choice of cereals he preferred would be nice for a change.

Unfortunately, Peter's home was probably the only place in New York where Neal wouldn't come looking. The consultant had avoided any sort of personal contact with his handler so far. It was simply unthinkable that he'd show up at the Brooklyn brownstone unexpectedly to pay a surprise visit. So, Burke was willing to accommodate the annoying guest as long as necessary in order to ensure his safety. After all, there were actually a bunch of violent criminals looking out for him.

This was one of the downsides of the "conning the conman" scheme. Recently, Peter had felt there were quite a few of them.

About the same time, Neal was sitting in his apartment. June was visiting a friend for the evening, and he had the house all to himself. It took him a while to realize what was missing. But then realization hit him; he was missing company. Even though Mozzie could be nerve-wracking to no end, he had always been there for him.

The conman knew his friend sometimes spun absurd theories just to distract him from a gloomy mood. On the other hand, they could sit together without talking and feel comfortable all the same.

Apart from feeling a bit lonely, Neal was confused. Somehow, working undercover brought him back to life, and he felt some of his former vigor returning. The overwhelming pall of darkness was lifting gradually. He was eating regularly, by his own initiative, even without vomiting out afterwards – and that was quite an improvement.

He enjoyed the challenge of conning Orlov, and he simply loved to paint. It was fun to work with the team at the FBI, banter at Peter, develop his handler's ideas further, and count on the agent's ability to come to his rescue in time, just like … before.

That's where the confusion started. Things were NOT like before. He was mad at Peter. He wasn't able to forget the months in prison because of Peter's distrust. Recently, he had been able to put the tormenting memories to the back of his mind. But they were lurking beneath the surface, ready to jump at him any time. Just thinking about the look of disgust on the agent's face when he declared him guilty of stealing from the FBI, made him feel sick and fly into a fury. The bitterness inside him was as corroding as hazardous acid, the white hot anger burning like a welding flame.

How could someone like and trust a person, but hate and detest him at the same time? Mozzie would be the perfect partner to discuss and finally resolve these contradictions. He couldn't to get to the bottom of his feelings by himself.

AN:  
So yes, Mozzie is safe and not abducted by the Russian mob :-)  
I really love your support. Thank you all!

And once more, I'm glad that larura beta read the chapter. It's definitely an improvement. Her amendments made really a change for the better.


	11. Chapter 11

/* Monday */

George Devore met his client as agreed upon at 10 am. He collected the icon painting along with instructions for the upcoming encounter with the insurance people. "Who's our man inside - or is it a woman?"

Orlov remained secretive. "You don't need to know yet. It's better if you act unbiased when you meet him."

After packing the icon painting, the conman was driven over to the insurance office. When he got there, he met three insurance representatives who explained the details of the expertizing process to him. The insurance officer in charge made out a receipt after he took the icon. He promised to call as soon as the expertise certificate came in.

Neal was none the wiser about the identity of the inside guy after the meeting. Back at Orlov's apartment, they discussed the next steps. The forger was requested to deliver the first icon replica within the next few days. His boss was skeptical about the quality of work and pressed to see proof in order to be convinced. The brilliant art forger was deeply insulted that his skills were challenged. Nevertheless, he put on a good face.

When Poppy called her husband outside to discuss some personal matters, Neal used the time to scan through the handwritten records on the desk. Orlov probably hadn't bothered to store them away because they were written in Cyrillic letters and obviously Russian.

Neal's Russian was a bit rusty, but he was still able to read the instructions to transfer 50 grand to a numbered account belonging to a Gerald Buckle. The key account executive he had met at the insurance company was named Gerald Buckle. Finally, he'd scored a direct hit. It would be a pleasure to reveal the information to his handler, proving that he actually had been able to solve the case, against all skepticism. That would teach him a lesson.

Some other phrases in the records attracted Neal's attention. By all appearances, there was more behind Orlov than insurance fraud; he was working a much bigger scheme. The CI shot some quick photos with his mobile.

Well before the mobster reappeared, Neal was relaxing in his chair again and seemed slightly bored. Soon after, he left the apartment and headed straight for the Bureau.

Burke evaluated the information. Fortunately, they had someone in their team who was able to translate the documents. Based on these evidences, it would be no problem to get a search warrant for Gerald Buckle's house and office. The agent was incredibly pleased about the photos Neal had taken.

"Well done, Neal! This was good work!"

The consultant raised his eyebrows. "Don't tax yourself in acknowledging my achievement... Now would be the time to admit that I was the perfect choice for this undercover job."

"As I said, well done. Are you out for brownie points?" Still, it was a friendly mockery in his handler's voice, taking off the sting from the sarcastic remark.

When Peter called Sara in London to share the news, she seemed very happy. "Buckle! That sleaze bag was envious that I got the job over here right from the beginning. I hope you find hard evidence to nail him down. How did you get the intel?"

Burke had put the call on speaker, and Neal chimed in. "You can thank me later! I hope to see you one day soon, here in New York. I would come over to visit you, but unfortunately, I'm currently a bit restricted."

"Caffrey? I told you to stay off this case. Do you ever listen when anyone tells you something? Peter, you promised me to keep him off; I didn't want to put him into danger." Sara wasn't amused.

Neal grinned and looked quite pleased with himself. "You're welcome."

Peter had started to explain why he hadn't kept his promise when Diana signaled him to come over. He cut the phone call short, but promised to account for it later.

Diana showed him the translated transcript created from the documents on the photos Neal had shot. Evidently, Orlov was laundering money for his father-in-law. They were using charity activities to launder money made in weapon trading. The documents revealed some intriguing details about the stream of cash as well as the people and organizations involved. They were talking about more than $100 million.

That afternoon, they were able to arrest Buckle. Soon after, he was already ratting out his clients, hoping to cut a good deal for himself with the FBI. His confession would be sufficient enough to whitewash Sara's reputation. When Peter tried to call her to give her an update, he reached only her mailbox. Secretly, he was relieved to have missed her. Sara probably would have given him a real telling-off about Neal's involvement. He hadn't told her about his plan. Peter knew he couldn't avoid her fury, but postponing it was just as good.

Unfortunately, the FBI hadn't been able to get hold of Orlov himself. The criminal wasn't at the apartment or at The Samovar or any other place they had searched. Meanwhile, the NYPD had been informed to be on the lookout for him. He wouldn't be able to leave the country either. Therefore, it would be only a matter of time until he was arrested.

The undercover operation was officially closed. They needed to finish the reports, but that could wait. Neal joined the team to investigate the money laundering scheme. There was a lot of research to do before a judge would issue search warrants for the high-level officials whose names were given in Orlov's notes. The photos from the documents were a good start, but they needed to bring forward more conclusive evidence.

It didn't come as a surprise when Jones approached Neal with the tracking anklet, smirking. "Look what I've got for you! You've probably missed her already."

"Oh yeah, missed it like a festering tooth." Neal stretched his leg and rested it on the conference room table to let Jones put on the anklet. Peter raised his eyebrows, mumbled something about bad manners and frowned at his consultant. This was just the sort of behavior Neal would have expected from him – before. Likewise, his own reaction hadn't been unusual either.

Walking home, Neal wondered if this would be the new normal - him acting like the cheeky, but useful CI and Peter being the tough agent with a heart of gold. Both of them pretending to be partners. It would only be a bogus imitation of their former relationship, far from being the real thing. He just didn't feel like he could unconditionally trust his handler anymore.

As a master forger, Neal knew a bit about replicas. He had made copies of paintings that were more skilled and capable in its details than the originals. But still, those replicas hadn't had the genuine brilliancy; they were missing that stroke of genius, the heart and soul. This consultant job would be an easy way of getting through the remaining years of his sentence.

Should he settle for a replica partnership or confront Peter to ask for a different handler? The agent himself had offered him this option. Maybe a fresh start without all the emotional entanglement would be best for everyone involved. But would another agent be willing to undergo the risk of handling a repeat offender? And would it be as much fun to work with someone else? He couldn't stand one of those dull, nitpicking Feds.

He needed Moz to discuss these ideas. As crazy as the little man was at times, he would be the perfect sounding board and ask ll the right questions in order to find the answers. By all appearances, Orlov would be arrested soon and once he wasn't posing a threat anymore, his friend would come out of hiding. Hopefully.

Peter was in a dither as well. This whole conning the conman mission had sounded like a great idea in the beginning. Admittedly, it had worked out so far. Neal seemed so much more alive nowadays and more like his usual reckless – almost temerarious - self.

But conning a partner wasn't right. That was one of the elementary rules of partnership. You simply don't lie to a partner. A partner could always rely on you to tell the truth. The agent felt miserable every time Neal worried about Mozzie. He couldn't help it, but, despite everything, he thought of Neal as a friend. He knew a friendship couldn't go only one-way. So, the ex-criminal wasn't actually a friend anymore. Peter knew this with his mind, but his heart was telling him different - that Neal was still a friend.

He should've known better than to try obtaining trust by devious means. Once the case was closed, the forced partnership would collapse like a house of cards. Whatever little trust his consultant might have still harbored would be gone as soon as he found about the con. He wished dearly he hadn't been so sagacious before he'd started to con his partner. Now, it was too late for regrets.

Maybe the trust had been broken to shards before. But in a few days, those shards would be ground into dust. And then what?


	12. Chapter 12

/* Tuesday */

The day started early for Peter, and it didn't start good. From then on, it got worse by the hour.

At the crack of dawn, he got a wake-up call from NYPD telling him they had found Orlov in a dumpster, with a bullet in the head. He had been shot from behind, probably early evening the day before.

Agent Burke drove over to Orlov's apartment to break the news to the bereaved wife, only to find it deserted. The apartment had been searched yesterday afternoon. In the 18 hours in-between, it had been emptied of all personal items. There were piles of ashes in the fire place. Apparently, the remainders of burned documents.

Half an hour before he would start his office day usually, he took a phone call from June. She was in panic and listening to her made Peter's blood run cold. "When Neal left the house, there were three threatening looking goons waiting for him. I couldn't overhear them talking, but had to watch them ushering Neal into the car. He put up resistance, yet had no chance, they were armed."

June described the car and gave Peter the plate details. Diana ran the plate through the computer, just to find out the car has been reported stolen two weeks ago. Dead end.

A couple of minutes later, Hughes came into Burke's office. "The Marshalls have called. Caffrey cut his anklet. Did he run? The last signal we got was on New Jersey Turnpike, heading for George Washington Bridge."

"No, of course not! He didn't run. He has been kidnapped, probably by Orlov's men, or by whoever was behind him. We need to find Neal urgently, but I have no idea where to start looking. If he'd wanted to run, he could have done so when he was off anklet." Peter shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't know what to think anymore. Maybe, he has changed his mind. Thought about the alternatives and decided against a future as an underpaid FBI consultant working for you." Hughes looked doubtful.

"But then again, I don't really think that Caffrey made an escape. That artful dodger would have worked out a more sophisticated plan. If you need support putting up a search party, call me. Whatever you need, you'll get it."

Burke had called Mozzie to inform him on the latest course of events immediately after he had talked to June. The little man hasn't wasted any time to rush over to the office.

"Suit, where is my friend? I want him back!"

"You want him back? He's not a toy you've loaned me and which I've lost by negligence."

"I know. He's my friend. Actually, the only friend I have, or as a matter of fact, the only one I've ever had. It takes a long time to grow an old friend. He takes me as I am and still likes me. With him, I can be stupid without actually feeling stupid. Ah, forget it. Someone like you won't understand!" Mozzie finished his tirade frustrated.

Peter was deeply touched by this outburst. "I do understand." _He's my friend, too._ However, he didn't utter the words. Probably, it would invite Mozzie's sharp-tongued contradiction.

"Suit, let's get down to business. Where have you been you looking for him so far?"

"Orlov's apartment, The Samovar, some other addresses known as meeting places for the Russian mob. To no avail."

"What about the warehouse?"

"What warehouse?"

"Orlov's warehouse, of course!"

"I don't know anything about a warehouse belonging to Orlov."

"The warehouse where I met Orlov to hand over the icon and negotiate the deal."

Peter was fuming. "You never told me about a warehouse. You've spent almost a week at my home, but haven't trusted me enough to tell about the warehouse?"

"I'm telling you now. Confiding in a Fed is against my nature. We call it survival instinct."

"I call it obstruction of justice." Peter was gasping while he tried to calm himself down. When this was over, he would ask El to teach him some of her relaxation techniques. A few deep-breathing exercises might help to suppress the urge to strangle the man in front of him. "Never mind, where is the warehouse? Tell me!"

"It's somewhere in Washington Heights. I can show you the way."

Meanwhile, Neal had had an insightful ride. His abductors hadn't trusted him to understand Russian. Therefore, they had been chatting without reserve. The conman had learned that Orlov was dead; someone referenced as '_she_' had ordered the killing, plus a top-rank boss from their organization had requested his very own presence. When the criminals had found the anklet, he had taken some blows before they had tasered him. They had cut the anklet and thrown his mobile out of the car.

Now, the kidnapped CI was sitting on a chair in an old, run-down warehouse, his hands restrained with cable ties. He still felt a bit dizzy; in addition his stomach was hurting from the punches. Apart from that, he was alert and waited anxiously for the things to come.

The FBI consultant didn't have to wait long until Tatjana Orlova appeared, accompanied by a couple of armed men. After overhearing the conversation in the limo, Neal wasn't surprised to face her. "May I offer you my sincere condolences? Nicolai's death must be a grievous loss to you." His ironic smile betrayed his words.

Poppy seemed amused. "Why, no! He was a failure. He ruined the insurance scam. Even though, this wasn't worth more than pocket money. Worse still, he has blown our cover for Papa's money laundering. But of course Mr. Caffrey, you know that already since you were the one who spied on him on behalf of the FBI. Papa asked me to get rid of Nicky. Well, that's what I did."

She didn't show any emotion; to the contrary, she seemed rather cool as ice. Her attitude sent cold shivers up and down Neal's spine. Plus, she obviously knew his real identity. Not good. "Then why am I still alive?"

"My dad is flying in. We expect him in the afternoon. He wants to interrogate you himself. Apparently, you must have played dirty tricks on one of his friends. He takes these issues personally. But don't worry; you won't have to wait long. Be my guest."

Damn it! This didn't look good. Neal couldn't think about any Russian mobster in specific on whom he had played tricks. But it might very well be possible that he had pissed of one of Lasarew's friends.

He just hoped Peter would find him before _Papa_ arrived. Peter had always found him, for better or for worse. Of course, he would be looking for him already. He would, wouldn't he? His handler wouldn't have decided he wasn't worth all the hassle? Who needed a CI without trust, a CI not talking to you, a CI going behind your back to your boss snatching an undercover job?

Despite all doubts, deep down Neal was convinced that Agent Burke would come looking for him. June had seen his violent abduction, and most certainly called the FBI without delay. Somehow, Peter would perform his FBI magic and find Neal, even though, he had not the least idea where to look for him.

Still, it won't do any harm to look for a getaway on his own. He has been left alone in a small room with boarded up windows. The window panes were gone long since. Yet some sharp glass edges were left in the frame. Neal used those to abrade the cable ties. It took a while until he succeeded, made his wrists bleeding, but finally his hands were free.

Back at the Bureau, Peter and his team discussed agitated the best way to free Neal. Hughes had suggested sending in an armed response team. However, they scrapped the plan since the risks involved were too high. Neal might end in a dead-end hostage situation if the criminals felt trapped.

Mozzie suggested creating a smoke screen to distract them, so that the FBI could enter unnoticed to rescue Caffrey.

Peter wasn't convinced. "How do you want to distract a bunch of violent criminals on your own? You're good at driving people crazy, but not that good!"

Mozzie had an answer. "I would recruit Alex, dashing like a fury upon the scene, scaring them out of their wits. Only, she had to leave New York already. It seems the icon she found for us belonged to a very possessive Greek government official with good connections to the embassy. Taking her experience with the system of justice in Greece into account, she decided to disappear from the scene. And disappearing she can do really well."

Peter remembered another unpleasant call he had taken this morning. "I know someone else who happened to fly in from London yesterday. She can do mad woman." Said lady had taken the red-eye flight. Accordingly, she was overwrought when she called to give the agent a dressing-down for involving Neal in the operation. Considering the events of the morning so far, this had just been the icing on the cake.

"Sara? Oh yes, she can do mad woman. Even I'm afraid of her..." Mozzie would have preferred to work with Alex. But then, it's a case of any port in a storm.

"To be on the safe side, you're taking Jones along as back up. If your distraction tactics don't work, you need someone who can handle a gun." They hoped that two agents could go unnoticed to the back of the warehouse. Peter himself, together with Diana, would enter through a side entrance, looking out for Caffrey. The armed response team would wait a block away, ready to step in upon request.

In the meantime, Neal had given up the hope to escape through one of the windows. They were boarded-up firmly, and he had no tools available. Therefore, he approached the door carefully to sound out the situation. Obviously, there were no guards in position to watch the captive. The conman seized the opportunity, moving through the bigger room adjacent to the smaller one where he had been locked. He reached the exit door, leading to the back yard and opened it without making any noise.

Just when he heaved a sigh of relief, he heard a gun cocking close to his head. "You're not going anywhere. Turn around! Hands over your head!"

Neal was frustrated but acquiesced in the situation. It didn't make much sense to start a fight with an armed opponent.

Poppy was exasperated by the attempted escape. "You are an annoying bastard for sure. It's hardly surprising that Keller wants you to suffer. Dealing with you seems to have this effect on people."

The CI winced. Keller! That explained a lot. Matthew Keller was no-one to forgive and forget. He has been out for revenge ever since they took the treasure from him. By the looks of it, he had called in a favor from one of his newly found Russian buddies. By all accounts, that treasure was big enough to buy him many favors, huge ones.

Tatjana checked her watch impatiently. "Much to my regret, Papa requested you alive. He won't be here before late afternoon. Too bad, I have to keep you around. Alive."

The con man flashed a charming smile at her. "That's good news. Maybe, he needs my expertise on a business opportunity. I'm a man of many parts."

The widowed criminal smiled frostily. "You're wide off the mark. By all appearances, he has received specific instructions regarding your decease. I'll spare you the details, really ugly stuff. No need to bother your handsome head beforehand. Time will tell."

Out of the corner of his eye, Neal saw an arm raising, giving him a blow with the butt of the gun. The pain was immense, but short-lived since he passed out subsequently.

He was dragged back to the small room in the back of the warehouse to be restrained with cable ties. This time, he was fixed to the piping with hands and feed tied together. Two guards were left to watch him. Poppy didn't want to disappoint her Papa by losing Neal Caffrey.

There hadn't been a lot of persuading needed to engage Sara. Even so, it was around noon when Mozzie, Jones and Sara finally arrived at the warehouse.

The three of them were a funny sight. Mozzie was wearing one of his colorful, oversize Hawaiian shirts, khaki slacks, with a base cap on top, whereas Sara was dressed to the hilt. Jones could have gone to a casting of Men in Black, wearing a black suit, white shirt, plus dark sun glasses. They were a true eye-catcher which was exactly the purpose of the dress up.

The little man banged on the front door, making a lot of noise. When the door was opened, Sara pushed it open and tried to march in. With a furious look on her face, she started yelling. "Get out of my way. I'm not leaving without my money. No-one sells me out." She poked with her index finger into the chest of the man blocking the door, who in turn was confused and didn't know how to react.

Mozzie chimed in. "Don't blame me. I warned you! I'm only the fence. It's her icon. If you play dirty tricks on her, she'll go ballistic."

The turmoil at the front entrance had caught the attention of the other men inside the warehouse. Two of them pressed forward to assess the situation.

Mozzie and Sara were bitching and moaning about the icon issue ceaselessly, alternating between blaming each other for cheating and demanding surrender of their property. Jones didn't say a single word, but remained silently threatening in the back.

Three grown-up men, hardened criminals, were simply not up to the task of handling those two wranglers and called for their boss.

When Poppy arrived, she took over control right away. "So what do you want? I know you." For a split second, Sara was scared stiff. There had been a residual risk that one of the criminals knew her face from the insurance scam. She had been quite sure that she hadn't met any of Orlov's men or his wife before. Still, if they'd recognized her, the cover would have been blown.

Much to Sara's relief, Tatjana Orlova pointed in Mozzie's direction. Hence, the scaring moment went by. "Who is the rest of you? We're not staging a costume party."

"That's Ms. Wagner. She, sort of, owns the icon painting I sold to your husband a while ago, who unfortunately hasn't paid the agreed price yet. He made a down payment, but three-fourths are still missing. Now, he's not taking my calls anymore. We're here to refresh his memory." Mozzie put on an air of importance.

Poppy nodded amused. "My husband is not available. Who's your third man?"

"He's my hired muscle. The name isn't important. You're not going to fob me off with empty promises. He's taking care of that."

Tatjana was no pushover. She refused to pay them off or even letting them inside the warehouse. The discussion went on and on. Obviously, she didn't know the whole confrontation was nothing but a stalling technique.

Two criminals were still inside, keeping Caffrey under guard. Peter and Diana had entered through the back door unnoticed. They were working their way through the warehouse with caution. Both of them keeping each other safe, standard FBI procedure.

That was of course, until Peter spotted Neal lying on the floor in a small pool of blood. The agent couldn't tell whether his consultant was unconscious, but saw blood pouring from a wound at the back of his head. The thick black hair was drenched, drying blood was all over.

This frightful sight misled Peter into letting his guard down; he rushed into the room towards the man on the floor. It was then that Neal opened his eyes. He seized the situation and uttered a warning. Only, it was too late. The FBI agent hadn't seen the armed man inside of the room. Now, he was confronted with a gun leveled at him.

However, this was a standoff since Burke was carrying his weapon as well.

The agent was kneeling on the concrete floor at Caffrey's side, checking his injuries. That task turned out to be a bit complicated since he was watching the armed criminal closely at the same time and didn't lower his gun. "Neal, how are you?"

"I'm ok. So far. I'm feeling a bit put through the mangle. But I've been worse off before. What's troubling me right now is the armed guy across the room, in addition to his buddy at the window..." He nodded towards the direction. "Don't tell me you came alone. Not that I want to seem ungrateful."

"Diana's here, too." Peter was relieved to hear his partner being flippant, even if it was only put on. It proved he wasn't injured seriously.

"I thought more about a fully-fledged SWAT team... Those two have some friends here in the building." He tried to sit up, but stopped to rest against the piping groaning with pain.

Peter signaled Diana to call in the rescue team. He agreed they wouldn't be able to handle the situation on their own. Both agents were carrying the standard FBI small arms, whereas their opponents had semiautomatics.

Unfortunately, Neal's guards had the same idea and shouted for back up. Two other men came running from the front door. They were talking hurriedly in Russian moving towards Neal and Peter.

The agent rose, positioning himself in front of his injured and restrained friend to shield him, aiming his gun with both hands. "Freeze, FBI."

The reaction was immediate. One of the villains laughed out loudly. The other one pulled the trigger and shot the Federal agent. Given the short distance, the professional weapon in conjunction with the obvious skill of the shooter, it wasn't a surprise that the bullet didn't miss the target, but hit Peter right into the chest.

The impact knocked him over, and he landed hard on his back. Now, a lot of things happened at once; hell broke loose.

"Peter, NO!" Neal watched horror-stricken as his partner tumbled over. Since he was still restrained, he couldn't move to check on his partner.

Jones rushed in from the front, together with Diana they shot two of the attackers. Peter turned around and wounded his shooter. Still the Russian thugs weren't defeated yet but returned fire.

Sara whipped her baton out of the hand bag, hit Poppy with a practiced hand and send her to the ground unconscious. As she had mentioned quite a while ago, she loved to use her baton. Mozzie tied the criminal with her own scarf.

Finally, the FBI back up team stormed in to save the situation.

Mozzie came running to check on Neal. He cut the restrains chaining him to the pipework. Before the little man could inspect the bleeding wound, his friend was already up and about, turning towards his handler. "Peter, you should be dead!"

The agent was coughing. "Oh should I? Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's not what I meant to say. That bullet has hit your heart. How could you survive such a blow?"

"Maybe I don't have a heart?"

Neal frowned. "Bad joke, even to your already low standards concerning humor."

The agent opened his jacket and revealed a bulletproof vest, the same make as the high-end protective equipment they'd saved from being stolen at the FBI convention. The White Collar division had purchased vests for all of the agents doing field work.

"You were right, feels like a bear hug. Probably, from a very angry bear. Ouch!" Quite possibly, his rib cage was contused. Moreover, he got a graze shot at the upper right leg.

Neal wasn't appeased. "You have no impulse control, do you? Ever thought about what would have happened if they had aimed for your head instead?"

Peter rubbed his hurting rib cage, smiling ruefully. "I guess you'd had to work hard to get back on El's good side. Ahem, while we're on the subject, things turned out all right. So please, spare her the details, just don't blurt out how close this was when you see her."

The medical team came in to take care of the wounded men, criminals as well as Peter and Neal. Diana and Jones were both unharmed. Therefore, both made sure that the arrest and the preservation of evidences followed FBI standard procedures.

Mozzie and Sara made a big fuss about the wounded consultant and quarreled who would accompany him in the ambulance. Only one of them was allowed in the car, but both claimed the privilege.

At the hospital, a part of Neal's hair had to be shaved off in order to treat the wound. It was a shame to cut those thick black curls. Fortunately, his good looks would be damaged only temporarily. Apart from the stitches he needed, there were no further injuries. Hence, he was released afterwards. June would take care of him. Probably, Mozzie and Sara would be there for a celebration, too. Diana had offered to drive him back home.

Neal Caffrey felt relieved. Relieved to be alive, not even seriously injured. Relieved to have his friends around. Relieved to be filled with vitality after all those months of hibernation. However, something striked him odd. He hasn't figured it out yet. The one thing he was sure about was that something was just not right.

Elizabeth came to the hospital as soon as she had gotten the call. She had always dreaded taking a call like this; the call to inform about her husband being injured in the line of duty – or worse. Sitting in the waiting room without knowing any details was torture.

She shed tears of relief and joy when she was informed on Peter's medical condition, seeing for herself he wasn't hurt seriously. Holding him in her arms was soothing.

After El has checked on Neal and saw he was ok as well, she was in high spirits, chatting all the way home in the car. She seemed to be unaware about her husband keeping silent. Or if she was aware of it, she had chosen not to mention it, but rather giving him instead the time he needed to sort things out.

Peter was lost in thoughts. The bad guys had been caught, evidence been secured, and justice would be served in court. Still, the flush of victory he usually felt after closing a case was missing. Something just didn't feel right.

AN:  
Only one more chapter to go. Yeah. Almost there. Thank you all for your reviews and messages. They were absolutely motivating and encouraging during the last months to go on with the story.

So, if you want to know what environmental protection and the contents of Peter's fridge have to do with trust and friendship, and why Shakespeare for once was wrong, don't miss the next and final chapter.


	13. Finale

**_Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him.  
_**_Aldous Huxley  
_

(Later that evening in Brooklyn …)

Peter was sitting on the patio with a bunch of sports papers stacked on the table beside him. Yep, he was on his own again; there was no annoying, paranoid conspiracy theorist talking his ears off. Just blissful silence, only himself and his wife in the kitchen preparing a feast for tonight. In a little while, he'd probably watch a sports game on TV, and take a long walk with Satch in the park. Later on, well, he might get some ideas involving El.

But, why did he feel so worn out? After all, they hadn't come out empty-handed from the case. They had caught Tatjana Orlova, as well as her crew, and the Marshalls had arrested her father, Michail Lasarew, at the airport when his flight had landed. Indeed, they had scored full points.

Even Sara was pleased, her job saved once again. It was likely that she was celebrating the victory with Neal right now, not to mention their reunion.

Agent Burke was more than happy that no one had been hurt seriously during the rescue. Everyone would be back to work tomorrow in the office. Elizabeth thought he should take a couple of days off, being wounded and all. However, she has known him for too long to expect him to stay home and recover.

Someday soon, he had to face Neal to talk things over. They needed to move on. Burke had toyed with the idea of changing the department. If he left White Collar, Neal could spend the rest of his sentence working with the team. He hadn't talked to Hughes about it because he hadn't made up his mind yet. He would miss working in White Collar dearly. It was a perfect fit for him. At least, it had been until recently.

Somehow, they had to find a solution. The situation with Neal wouldn't resolve itself. You had to give a little, take a little … That way, Neal would stay out of prison, whereas the team would function as a sort of safety belt to keep him out of too much trouble. Peter himself would have to settle with a different team, a new task. Nothing he was looking forward to, but he could cope.

Just then, the door bell rang, interrupting his thoughts. Since El was busy in the kitchen, he went to open the door. To his utter surprise, Neal was standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a six-pack of beer.

A winning smile on his face, he brushed past Peter into the house. "I thought this operation called for a celebration. Will you get out the glasses? This beer needs to see the refrigerator." And off he went to the kitchen.

After hugging Elizabeth, Neal opened the refrigerator to store the bottles. He inspected the contents interested and moved the food to make space. Satisfied with the results, he closed the door, grinning mischievously. Then, he took the wine plus a bottle of beer to join his handler outside on the patio.

He handed Peter the bottle and poured himself a glass of wine. It was an exquisite French claret with a full bouquet, old, obviously expensive. By contrast, the beer was the cheapest brand available. Lukewarm, it tasted disgusting. Neal sneered. "You like it?"

"Ah hm. It's definitely an experience. Still, it's not one I'd like to repeat too often. Do I have to drink it?" Peter was puzzled, unable to read the con man's face. What was this? Day of reckoning or a happy ending?

"Yep. You've deserved a treat. Let's raise a toast to faithful partners and trusting friends!" He lifted his glass to clink the beer bottle.

Peter's stomach turned. That probably meant no happy ending, then. He cleared his throat and groped for words. But before he started speaking, his young partner made the opening move.

"I can't believe it took me so long to see through this con. I have to acknowledge, without grudge, that this was downright brilliant. You laid out the bait masterfully, and I took it. And apparently, you've got everyone involved, from Sara to your wife, June, Jones, Diana, even Hughes. Correct me if I'm wrong!"

His handler just shrugged his shoulders and hung onto his beer, waiting for the rest to come.

"Did I forget anyone? Orlov and his men were real, that much I can tell. Oh yes - the most important accomplice, Mozzie! I guess he must have driven you crazy, being at your home day and night without means of communication to the outside."

"You've spoken to Mozzie? He let on about the scheme?" Peter wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected Moz to keep secrets from his friend for long.

"Nope, he didn't. You've just let it out. Besides, I've raided your fridge. Unless you've developed a taste for lactose-free produce or vegan food, I guess you've hosted him for a while. Tell me, how did that work out? He must have driven you crazy!"

Peter nodded agreement. "Goes without saying! How can you keep him around all the time? He doubts everything, suspected the neighbors of being CIA spies, and accused me of poisoning him when I confused his soy yogurt with dairy products. Not to mention the constant stream of Indian Sitar music to ease the flow of his thoughts. But it was the only choice, and if I had to, I would do it all over again."

"Thank you, I appreciate the effort. I really do. This was a truly touching thing you did for me. I've got to hand it to you. You plotted this very skillfully. I have to give you credit for the scheme. I never suspected that you were the one pulling the strings. I have the deepest respect for this con. Take that as a compliment from con artist to con artist!"

The agent smiled sheepishly. "I learned from the best."

"Allegedly, don't forget. You never admit anything."

"Oh yes, allegedly. So, where do we stand now? I know it wasn't right to con you, but I couldn't think of any other way to save you. After all, it was my mistake that started this miserable course of events. So I had to make it right. Then again, going behind your back was an awful idea." Peter looked ineffably sad.

Neal got serious. "No, I wasn't joking. I really appreciate the effort. Conning a friend contradicts your own beliefs. You need strength to do that and pull it through to the end. Thank you."

Peter was amazed. "I don't know what to say. I don't think that I deserve any gratitude. How can I ask you to forgive what ..."

The CI stopped him. "That's enough! I don't want to hear any more apologies. You've done nothing else but apologize in the two months I've been back."

"But you haven't listened. You were somewhere else with your thoughts. I need to do this properly. Allow me to tell you the truth and tell you how sorry I am, just this once. After that, you can make up your mind." When Neal nodded silently, Peter sighed, bracing himself for the difficult task ahead.

"I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I've known you too well to assume you would cheat on the White Collar division. Yes, you might have your own interpretation of what's right and wrong, but you wouldn't betray a partner. I should have trusted you. I should have stood up for you, helping to prove your innocence. Instead, I was the first one to put the blame on you. Ever since then I've realized my how wrong I was, and I've regretted it bitterly."

Caffrey didn't object. "That's right - I wouldn't have done that. And I thought you knew that. I thought we were friends... No, I even considered you family. Neither friends nor family would act like you have. I don't understand how you could have turned your back on me. Burke the jerk!"

Peter was aware that his partner deserved an honest answer. Even if the truth reflected badly on him. "I guess I was still feeling sore about the instant bonding with your dad and the turn it took when James killed the Senator. But that's not a good excuse. I was a turncoat, letting you down. I am dreadfully sorry - sorry for what I did, and the hardship I caused you."

Neal was listening closely, his face not giving away any emotion, rubbing the scar on his forehead.

Watching him, Peter couldn't stop the memories flooding his mind. He recalled his partner's abused and battered face back in prison, the angry wound shining out glaringly. There had been nothing but contempt and hate, combined with despair in Neal's eyes that day. The agent often experienced these flashbacks, reminding him of his own guilt. He couldn't think of any way to break through it.

Peter sighed in resignation. "That scar of yours, for example. It will always remind me of my failure. How do you deal with it? How can we overcome the rift?"

The younger man looked astonished. "The scar? It's actually a good simile. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. Apart from that, it gives me the air of being beset with danger; it really gives me an edge with women. You made me a chick magnet, don't you know? Seriously, I've been bitter for too long. It's eating me up. I don't want this anymore."

The agent was skeptical. "I don't know. Ever since you were released from prison, you've been withdrawn, obviously suffering from the aftermath of the ordeal. Now, only one week later, you're telling me everything is fine, wounds healed, all is forgotten and forgiven? That doesn't seem right. Have you even talked to someone about what has happened to you in prison? "

Neal's stomach clenched, and when he spoke, his voice sounded thin. "Not all of the wounds have healed yet; they go very deep. Frankly, I don't think that I will be able to ever forget any of them. Most certainly, I won't talk about that time in prison anytime soon, probably never. But, I don't want to grow old and bitter. I don't want my bitterness to defeat me. That would be suicidal. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by my suffering, or I can choose to rise from the sorrow. I want to make a fresh start."

His partner was deeply impressed. "Words to live by. Why don't you tell me more about the fresh start you're planning? As I've told you before, you can always be assigned to another handler. I understand if you don't want to work with me any longer. I won't be offended. Besides, I thought about climbing up a step on the career ladder myself, moving to another department. You see, there's more in the FBI universe than just the White Collar division." He tried to sound optimistic.

Neal was worried. "Don't! Don't do that! I don't want another handler. You're my partner. You can't believe that I would let you off the hook so easily. Consider it as your punishment to bear with me and my shenanigans over the next couple of years. "

Even though Peter wanted to believe this could work, he wasn't convinced yet. "It will be too dangerous for both of us if we can't trust each other. This job puts us at risk every day. You need to trust that your partner will back you up when the situation gets nasty. After all, it was you who said _trust is like glass. Once broken it can't be glued together._"

The CI remembered very well the day he had confronted his FBI handler, sitting in this desolate visiting room in prison. He had been so desperate, so frightened. If he had a say, he'd never go down that path again. Frankly, it wasn't so easy to go back to normal. It wasn't sunshine and roses. He was still working hard to get over his grudge. Then again, he also knew that he could make this work. He was one of the world's best con artists. He was able to con even himself. That's part of the job description. First you start pretending you're the sunshine boy, put a smile on your face; but somewhere along the way, you realize that the smile has found its way into your heart, and you actually feel at peace.

Neal put on a reproving look. "Peter, don't you know anything about environmental protection?"

"Environmental protection? What are you talking about?" Burke felt completely lost by the sudden change of subject, even wondering if his consultant had gone around the bend.

"Come on, it's perfectly obvious; what do you do with glass waste? You'll recycle it into new glass. Once this beer bottle is discarded, it will be melted down and re-created into a lovely perfume flute or a nice vase. It just needs a furnace with a lot of heat to do the trick."

The agent thought about that and chuckled. "We've had quite some heat, haven't we?"

Neal agreed. "Oh yes, there was a lot of heat. Volcano-like heat."

"The last bit of this disgusting beer in this ugly bottle will probably evaporate into thin air when it gets melted. That's another good reason to try it. This beer sucks!"

Both of them laughed. Holding on to their guilt, resentment and hurt had given both of them a sore jaw from clenching their teeth. Forgiveness on the other side, gave back some laughter and lightness to their life.

Eventually, Peter allowed himself to indulge in hope. "All right, then. You reckon we can rebuild the trust just as well? I guess it will take time. Trust is built step by step, commitment by commitment, on every level. It might take us a while, but I'd give everything to make it work."

Neal tried to calm his partner down. "Hey buddy, take it slow! I don't need you acting as my human shield whenever things turn ugly. That was creepy. I appreciate the effort. But that's not what we need to rebuild trust. First of all, to have a working relationship it would come really handy if both of us were alive. Step by step. Focus!"

El came outside to ask if Neal would stay over for dinner. In fact, she had already set up the table for three. The question had been purely rhetorical. As she told her guest, there was always a place at their table for him. She would have been very disappointed if the invite had been turned down. However, Neal was actually looking forward to it.

Elizabeth went back to finish the cooking, awaiting the evening ahead in joyful anticipation. She had been missing Neal's company, too. Plus, she had missed the sound of her husband's laughter over the recent months.

There has been one question puzzling the agent ever since he had visited his injured friend in the prison infirmary. That missing piece didn't make sense. "Why did you kept that sheriff's star in prison? I imagine it must have been an agonizing reminder of my back-stabbing, like a constant thorn in your side."

Neal smiled affectionately and got the badge out of his pocket. His partner was surprised.

"You're still carrying it with you!"

"It has been a promise for a better life. I didn't want to run anymore, I felt like having found a home, a meaning, even a family after all. That fake sheriff's star was my symbol of a happy future."

His friend still wasn't able to comprehend. "But it didn't work out! You've ended up in prison once again. Particularly with regard to the circumstances, how could you stand the sight of that shattered dream day by day?"

Neal sighed deep. He'd never let the truth of this to sink into his conscious mind before. "I guess it was like a life belt, my last straw to cling to. If I had let go, I would have gone insane. Even in my darkest moments, there was this tiny, indestructible glimmer of hope. It helped me to get through. And here it is, waiting to be ignited into a bonfire of hope."

His friend nodded his assent. "Hope has something to do with things that are not at hand. Let's make this something better, let's make it real, tangible."

Both men were sitting at ease in the evening sun, with no need for further discussion. The only sounds to hear were Satchmo barking and a neighbor's children playing in the back yard. They could already smell the delicious food, rich and tasty scents coming over from the kitchen. Feeling more peaceful than he had in many months, Neal was certain that he wouldn't want to be at any other place right now. Not in his apartment, nor at the Côte d'Azur.

Tomorrow, there would be business as usual. Peter would annoy him by eating deviled ham sandwiches, mock his Devore suit, even monitor his tracking data. In turn, he would play his little tricks bending the law to get some fun into the consulting job. There would be tiring stakeouts, boring mortgage fraud cases and endless reports to write. However, he wouldn't have to face it alone; there would be a friend right by his side.

Maybe Shakespeare had said _all's well that ends well_. But then, Neal wasn't yet willing to let this partnership end. The happy ending has to be put on the back burner.

The con artist smiled winningly. "By the way, have I told you about that fantastic exhibition of postmodern surreal charcoal drawings starting next week? Just slightly out of my radius. I guess El would love to see it. If you need an art guide, you should know that I had a girlfriend once, a fascinating artist working in that field. My knowledge in this artistic style is literally unparalleled. I wouldn't let you down if you need my expertise ..."

AN:  
That's it! I actually wrote a story without a happing ending! Never thought, I woud... Okay, a happy not-ending is even better. I'm not fooling anyone here.

It feels a bit strange, rather bittersweet, to eventually end this story. It has been in my mind throughout the last 3 months and now it's done. During those first, dark chapters I already had the last chapter in mind and it kept me going. I really suffered with Peter and his guilt and felt Neal's hurt and despair! But thanks God, I knew they would fix it. I guess I have to find a way to become less emotionally attached to my own stories ...

I don't know, perhaps I'll write an update in the distant future to re-visit Peter and Neal and see how they've worked it out. Just a thought at the moment. But for now, the story is complete.

Thanks to all of you who have kept reading the story, even though it took me sometimes weeks to post a new chapter. And I really, truly appreciate all those reviews! This is not just fishing for compliments. It helps a lot, particularly in such a long story, to receive that feed back and get some clues if the plot is still comprehensible and interesting.

And last, but definitely not least, a big thanks to larura who beta read this chapter, as well as many other of the chapters I've posted. I was afraid that she would have been scared off sooner or later because of the big workload involved. But on the contrary, she not only reviewed the documents but encouraged me with her sweet comments.


End file.
